Hogan's Heroes: Stories of a War Hero
by Basketballgirl Kaitlin
Summary: When Hogan and Newkirk are cleaning Klink's office, they find his journal from WWI and grow curious. They, along with Klink's daughter, decide to take a peek inside and learn more about the kommandant's time in the Great War. What did he do? Where was he stationed? And how did he earn his nickname the Iron Eagle?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Howdy, folks. I have been working on this story for almost two years now and finally decided to post it on today: November 11, 2019. 101 years after the end of World War I. I thought it would be fun to explore what Klink's life would have been like during the Great War and all the ups and downs he faces as he fights to keep the German Empire alive and well. There's comedy, romance, drama, and sometimes a few tears here and there. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy Klink's journey through World War I and my story. As always, please, please, _please_ leave me some reviews. I love reviews. :) Have fun! And yes, Leah, it's finally here. You're welcome.

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**Chapter 1:**

It was a nice day in the middle of March. The sun was shining and besides the mild wind, it was ideal weather for anybody. While the rest of the camp were outside enjoying the sun, inside barracks two were Hogan, his men, and Kalina bored out of their minds. It had been over a week since they had been given an assignment from either London or the underground. With the lack of business, the six had kept themselves busy with card games, sports, or messing around with the guards and the kommandant. Unfortunately, it had gotten to the point where _nothing_ seemed to entertain them anymore.

In the main area were Hogan, Kinch, Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter all sitting around the table. Kalina was lying in Carter's bunk with her left arm around her middle. Kinch and Hogan were trying to find joy in the books they were reading, Carter and LeBeau were on their fifth game of gin, Newkirk twirled a pen in his hand looking like he was about to go insane from boredom, and Kalina played with her paddle ball mindlessly.

The silence continued to carry out and eventually made the English corporal set his pen down and roll his eyes.

"Alright, I've just about had it here. We've done nothing but the same things everyday for the past week and a half." He groaned.

"You got a better idea?" LeBeau remarked, lying down a card.

"Yeah, it's called going outside and doing something."

"And do what? We've played football, basketball, and volleyball so much that I'm beginning to lose interest in sports in general," Kinch said, setting his book down.

"_Anything's_ gotta be better than sitting another moment in this bleedin' barracks. I'm starting to lose me bloody mind," Newkirk answered.

"We could play king of the hill. Me and my cousins love playing that game back home," Carter suggested, rubbing the back of his neck.

"And when Kalina falls off the porch of the kommandant's office again and _does_ break her arm, you'll be shot without trial," Hogan said, propping his head up with his fist.

"Kalina falling off was LeBeau's fault, not mine."

"I said I was sorry!" The Frenchman replied, defending himself.

The teenager in discussion had a sudden idea come to mind, and her face brightened. She sat her paddle ball aside, got to her feet, and hurried to the colonel's side.

"I know! We can go to the park!" Kalina cried, filled with excitement.

"On what given permission?" Hogan asked, turning to the girl.

Kalina grew silent for a moment before giving a timid smile.

"If we ask Schultz really nicely?" She replied.

"I'd love to go to the park just as much as you do, hon, but your father would _never_ allow it," Hogan said, getting to his feet and putting a gentle hand on the teenager's shoulder.

"I got it!" Newkirk exclaimed, with the snap of his fingers. "We'll play soccer!"

"Aw, come on, Newkirk. We played soccer four times last week." The technical sergeant moaned.

"Yeah, but we'll put a little twist on it. Instead of using a soccer ball, we'll use a basketball instead."

"A basketball!" LeBeau exclaimed.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Kinch asked, crossing his arms.

"As long as we're not whacking anybody in the head with it no one's gonna mind," the Englishman answered.

"I'm game," Carter said.

"_Oui_. I guess I am as well." LeBeau added.

"Alright, I'll play, too," Kinch said.

Hogan turned to Kalina.

"What do you say, hon; you in?" He asked.

"Sure. I got nothing better to do," Klink's daughter answered.

"Come on, mates. Kinch, you get the ball, I'll set up the goals," Newkirk said, getting to his feet.

The others followed Newkirk out of the barracks, Hogan closed the door behind them, and the six got ready for what would end up being a highly interesting game of soccer.

* * *

The compound was suddenly filled with laughter, cheering, and playful back talk. Hogan, Kinch, and Kalina were on one team, and Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau were on the other. So far Hogan's team had four points, and Newkirk's team had two.

As they continued to pass the basketball around, Schultz came over to see what was causing them to laugh so much. When he got to the scene, he became highly confused at what was going on.

"What are you doing?" He asked, pointing at them.

"Playing soccer, Schultzie. You wanna play?" LeBeau replied.

"_Soccer_? With a _basketball_?"

"Put a new spin on the game," Kinch said, doing soccer tricks with the ball.

"You want to ref, Schultz? We got four, Newkirk's got two," Hogan said.

"I never liked soccer," the fluffy sergeant answered.

"That's okay, Schultz. We let beginners in," Kalina said, cheerful.

"I can't even if I _wanted_ to," the German soldier replied, grim. "I'm on patrol duty today."

"Better get back to work then, Schultz. You wouldn't want the Kommandant to see you slacking off on duty, would you?" The colonel questioned.

"Is that 'im looking out the window?" Newkirk added, giving the guard grief.

Schultz gasped, then snapped his attention towards the kommandantur.

"_Herr Kommandant_, I'm not slacking off, I swear! _Herr Kommandant_!"

The sound of Schultz's voice soon faded, and the group of six turned back to look at one another.

"Come on, guys. Let's get back to the game," Hogan said, gesturing for them to continue.

"Hey, Colonel! Look how far I can kick this bad boy!" Carter cheered, and sent the ball flying into the air. Instead of his designated target of the goal, the basketball went off way to the left and landed inside the motor pool.

Seeing their game ball had vanished, the colonel turned to look at his young sergeant with a raised eyebrow.

"Oops," Carter said innocently.

"Well," Kinch stated. "_That_ ball's not coming back on its own."

"We better go get it before one of the guards find it and have it confiscated," Hogan answered.

The four enlisted soldiers and teenager followed behind their commanding officer to the motor pool, stepped inside past the gate, and saw the ball sitting inches away from the kommandant's staff car.

"There yah are," Newkirk said, and made his way over to the spherical object. He picked up the basketball and began to spin it on his fingers like a professional. When it started to slow down in speed, the Englishman spun the ball with his spare hand to make it speed up again.

Hogan sighed through his nose and put his fists on his hips.

"Newkirk, you're gonna break something if you keep that up," he warned.

"Aw, come on, Gov'nor. What's the worst that could happen?" The corporal in calling replied, his finger losing balance on the ball. As he tried to get it back in the center, it fell off and landed on the car windshield with a loud 'smash' and the sound of glass shattering.

Kalina's eyes widened in horror and covered her mouth with her hands at the sight. Half of her father's car windshield was completely cracked and smashed from the basketball's impact.

Newkirk turned around to face the nightmare, and his eyes nearly fell out of his head.

"_That's_ what'll happen," Hogan finally answered, pointing in the vehicle's direction.

"Oh no, Klink's gonna have a _cow_! And a sheep and a horse and a duck and the whole darn barn!" Carter exclaimed.

"How are we going to hide _that_ from Klink?" Kinch asked.

"I got it. We'll cover it up with tarp and tell Old Klink that the car's under repair and cleaning," the Englishman said.

"Is there even a tarp _in_ here?" LeBeau asked.

"Maybe under some of these tools and car parts." Newkirk replied, and got to work. Soon wrenches, screws, washers, and various other metal parts and tools were flying behind the corporal's back. The remaining five backed away from the chaos the minute a screwdriver nearly whacked Kinch in the shoulder.

"Hey, watch where you're throwing things, will yah? You're gonna kill someone doing that." The leading sergeant remarked.

"Sorry, mate," Newkirk said, and started throwing the objects off to the right of his friends. He found a big hammer, looked at it briefly, then threw it behind him. The heavy tool crashed on the front end of the car, leaving a huge dent and some white smoke rising into the air, then bounced off the vehicle and headed in a different direction.

As if things could not have gotten any worse, Klink walked inside the motor pool with his cap and jacket on while clutching his swagger stick underneath his arm. He began to make his way to his car, when he saw the hammer headed for his head and ducked down to the ground, covering the back of his head with his hands like in a tornado drill. Fortunately, Klink was left unscathed, and the metal tool landed on the ground with a 'thud'.

"Papa!" Kalina cried, rushing to her father's side. Once reaching him, she helped the man get back to his feet and grabbed his arm in fear. "Papa, are you alright?"

Klink brushed himself off, briefly turned to look at his daughter, then made his eyes back to the front of him. When he saw the horror before him, the German colonel's eyes nearly fell out of his head, his jaw almost fell off its hinges, and had to hold his belly from tumbling over in shock.

There sat his staff car in complete demolition. The windscreen was completely smashed and parts of it had shattered onto the hood of the vehicle. To add to the nightmare, a small stream of white smoke was coming out of his dented front hood, indicating that his radiator had given out from the damages.

Eventually Klink's awe wore off and was then replaced with deep anger. He let out an uneasy, heavy breath of air out through his nose and grew alarmingly quiet. He slowly turned his attention to his daughter and gave her a frightening glare that made her gulp. She knew the very minute her father fell silent that he was mad..._very_ mad.

Kalina shivered under her father's cold stare and did not need verbal communication to understand what he was demanding. She slowly turned to her left and looked up at Hogan with hesitation. The look on the teenager's face made the American give a heavy sigh.

"Oh boy," he said.

"You think Klink had a cow yet?" Carter asked softly, leaning close to Kinch's side.

"He had it about three minutes ago," the leading sergeant answered, too terrified to speak above a whisper.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Klink slammed his fist down on his desk as he glowered his eyes at the two prisoners before him. He had not felt so much rage in years, even when dealing with Hogan and his men. _This_ time, however, they had gone too far. His car was smashed, dented, and damaged and was now stuck in camp until he could get a mechanic to come out and fix it. It was extra money that would have to come out of his already tight enough camp budget. He was not playing nice this time. Hogan and his men would suffer the consequences no matter what excuse or case they pleaded.

"Alright," the kommandant said, firm. "I want to know who damaged my car, and I want to know this instant."

The two prisoners, Hogan and Newkirk, stood there silently for several moments before the Englishman finally found enough confidence within him to speak.

"It was an accident?" He remarked, with a shrug and look of innocence.

"I don't care _what_ it was, I want to know what happened to my car!" Klink demanded.

The Senior POW turned to look at his subordinate, then sighed and made his eyes back to the German colonel.

"Alright, Kommandant. We were playing a game of soccer while using a basketball, and it got a little out of hand,"

"A little out of hand! My car's windshield is completely shattered!" Klink retorted.

"Didn't _mean_ to do it, Sir. Yah see, me mate Sergeant Carter wanted to show us how far he could kick the ball, and it went into the motor pool. So we went to go and get it, and I started to do that fun trick where you make the ball spin around on your finger...only unfortunately, I lost my balance, and the ball kinda went...crashing into your car's window." Newkirk explained.

"Not even a basketball with so much force can leave such a dent in my car and break my radiator."

"Now _that_ the basketball didn't do," Newkirk cleared his throat, carefully deciding on his choice of words. "It was a hammer."

"What idiot plays soccer with a hammer?!"

"He was just trying to find a tarp to put over your car. Make sure no dust came inside until someone could come and fix it," Hogan said, defending his fellow Ally and friend.

"I uh, was actually just gonna claim the car needed cleaning and hide the damage until I figured out a way to fix it without your knowledge." The Englishman corrected.

"See, was even honest about it. You know, they always say honesty's the best policy."

Before anyone could say another word, the door to Klink's office opened and in came Kalina flying, tightly clutching a first aid kit in her arm and a cool washcloth in her hand. She sat the small black bag down on the desk, then got up on the toe of her boots to check for any cuts, scrapes, or bumps on her father's head.

The worried expression on his daughter's face made Klink give a silent smirk and grabbed her hands in his.

"Kalina, I'm fine, darling. I ducked down far before the hammer reached me," he said kindly.

"You're sure? You didn't hit anything when you fell down?" Kalina asked, her nerves still uneasy.

"I'm just fine. No scratches, no bruises," the German officer answered, bringing the teenager in for a hug. He gave Kalina a kiss on the head, making her smile and lean against her father. The tension in her shoulders finally loosened and could sigh with relief.

"Aw. He's alright, little mate. See? Not a single scrape on his body," Newkirk said, thinking the moment was cute despite it involving Klink.

The remark from her friend caused Kalina to slowly turn her eyes and glare at the English corporal. She held onto Klink tighter and lay her head against his chest.

"You could've killed my Papa!" She exclaimed.

"That's cruel and unusual accusations!" Hogan protested, then put his arms behind his back and finished his thought. "Had we wanted to kill him, we would've done so a year ago."

That earned a glare from _both_ Klinks.

The American cleared his throat and hung his head.

"Sorry, Sir," he said, soft.

"And exactly who do you think is going to pay to _fix_ my car?" The kommandant questioned, sounding more like an order.

"I heard Sergeant Schultz has a good amount of money in his pocket right now," Hogan answered.

"I _still_ think the man bloody cheated last night." Newkirk grumbled, under his breath. It got him a just barely noticeable elbow in the side from his commander.

"You two think this is funny? You realize I was to have a meeting with General Burkhalter today in town, and now I can't go because I have no car!" Klink quarreled.

"That's not gonna look good on his record," the corporal said quietly, to Hogan.

"Could cost him another promotion, too." The American colonel added.

"I'm serious, Hogan. This time you and your men have gone too far. I will not fall for any of your persuasions and intend to give you the utmost _severe_ punishment that…" the kommandant paused in mid sentence, when he felt his daughter tug on the sleeve of his uniform. She had a nasty, wicked grin to her face, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Klink leaned over enough for Kalina to get close to his ear and listened to what she whispered to him. He was soon sharing the same look on his face and wrapped his arm around her with pride.

"This is why you're my daughter," the German officer said, making the teenager blush and wrap her arm back around her father's waist. "Kalina has just given me an _excellent_ idea for suitable punishment. For the extensive damages done to my car, the two of you will clean this entire office from ceiling to floor."

"Kalina, that hurts!" Hogan exclaimed.

"I gotta be a Kraut _sometimes_, Colonel Hogan," Klink's daughter said, with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Kalina will supervise the both of you while I'm out of the office and dealing with other camp related work. When I get back here, I want this office to sparkle and shine like the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin. Got it?" The kommandant briefed.

"Yes, Sir." Both Allied soldiers grumbled.

"I'll clean out the bookshelf," Hogan said.

"I'll start with some dusting." Newkirk replied.

As the two POWs split off to their different stations, Klink and Kalina made their way to the office door. They stopped in their tracks once reaching their destination, and the kommandant turned to look at his daughter.

"Now you make sure those two don't start pulling any funny business while I'm gone, understood?" Klink asked, with a low, serious tone.

"Yes, Papa, I'll make sure they don't cause any trouble," Kalina said, with a soft smile.

Klink grinned down at his daughter, gave her a hug and kiss, then gently rubbed her arm before he closed the door and headed out of the building.

When the German colonel had vanished, Newkirk made his way over to his small friend and complained about their sentences.

"I can't believe you got your old man into ordering us to clean this entire office!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, get dusting. _Schnell, schnell_," Kalina said, unamused. She had her arms crossed and kept her face expressionless.

Giving in to, sadly, the teenager's superiority, Newkirk sulked back to Klink's desk and began his assigned duty.

Hogan did a little less than scan over each book he pulled off the shelf and threw it in a box that would later be trashed.

"Junk. Junk. Junk...Luftwaffe code book...nah, this is the old edition. _'Mein Kampf'_, this is _definitely_ junk."

"Put it back, Colonel Hogan," Kalina answered warningly.

"Alright, alright, I'm putting it back...but I'm putting it where no one can see it easily."

The young teenager rolled her eyes and shook her head, then turned in Newkirk's direction. As the English corporal did a poor job of dusting the desk, he snuck a couple of cigars out of Klink's cigar case and into his inner jacket pocket.

"If I'm doing service for a bleeding Kraut, I at least want something in return," he said.

"Would you just quit your complaining? Or I'm making you dust that desk again." Kalina groaned, not enjoying her task anymore than the two of them were. She had intended on getting Schultz to watch them, but did not wish to argue against her father when he already had a crummy morning. It was the _least_ she could do to lift some stress off the man's shoulders. She would have much rather been spending her time outside with her sketchbook and drawing visions running through her little, artistic mind.

"Can't we at least listen to some music while we work?" Newkirk questioned.

"I'd turn on the radio, but the only thing you're gonna hear at this time of day is either a replay of one of Hitler's speeches or 'Horst Wessel Lied'," the teenager said.

"I'd rather work with the quiet, then."

"I don't blame you."

Hogan continued to sort through books in silence, when he came across one that differed from the rest of them. It was much older and was binded with a dark maroon leather covering. Intrigued to learn more, he opened it and started going through the filled pages.

"Well what do we have here?" He questioned, continuing his investigation.

Kalina turned her head, spotted what was in the American's hands, and stormed over to her friend in growing fury.

"You put that back; that's Papa's journal!" She hissed.

"Looks like this is from his time in World War I," Hogan said, ignoring the teenager's comment.

"Really?" Kalina remarked, now interested herself. She tried to peek over Hogan's shoulder, then caught herself. "No, put it back! Please, Colonel Hogan."

"I didn't know Ol' Klink had a journal," Newkirk said, dusting the Kommandant's pencil cup.

"From the time he went in to the time the war ended and went home to Munich. Assignments, people he met, the whole thing in entirety." Hogan read.

Newkirk grinned wickedly.

"Go on then, give it a read!" The Englishman cheered.

"We can't!" Kalina gasped, then she hesitated. She knew very little of her father's time in the war, as he rarely spoke of it. What would be the harm in getting the knowledge this way. "Can we?"

"No, no no no. Come on, guys. Now what I'm doing is making sure it's something that should be trashed or not. What you two want to do is an invasion of privacy. As interested as I am in reading it myself, we'll respect Klink's personal life and not rub our noses in it. Although a Kraut, he _is_ another military officer." The colonel reasoned.

"Please, Colonel Hogan? Papa's _never_ told me what he did during the Great War. He says tiny snippets once and awhile, but I know nothing other than that. Where he was stationed, what he did, who he served with, everything to me is an unknown mystery I've been trying to figure out for years. Papa's my role model, my hero. I wanna know how he was a hero to Germany. How he _is_ a hero to Germany." Klink's daughter pleaded.

"Then in that case, we're not invading privacy, Gov'nor; we're doing research. Educating ourselves more about World War I." Newkirk argued, wanting to know about Klink's past just as much as his daughter did. What she said was not wrong. Like Hogan, Klink kept his past very quiet and reserved. Besides mentioning a few family members and a couple of memories he shared with Hogan, his life before World War II was almost non existent. This was their chance to learn more about their bumbling kommandant and the man Kalina treasured so.

Hogan shook his head, still uneasy about the idea.

"I don't know, guys," he said.

"Oh _please_, Colonel Hogan. Papa won't be back for a few hours, he'll never know a thing about this." Kalina persisted.

The American sighed, knowing the two were not giving in until he agreed with their request.

"Alright," Hogan answered. "We'll read a few entries."

"Oh boy, this is gonna be good," Newkirk said, dashing to his commander's side and sat down on the ground beside him.

"I'm finally going to learn about Papa and his time in the Great War! Soaring high in the sky, shooting down the enemy, conquering and bringing down other planes with an iron fist!" Kalina cheered.

The teenager's enthusiasm regarding her father's service made the colonel chuckle.

"Alright there, sweetheart. Get off your soapbox and sit down here with us." Hogan spoke kindly.

Kalina got down on the ground and sat on her right side, ready to discover her father's time in World War I.

As the three were about to settle in and start reading, a picture slipped out of the journal, causing instant curiosity in all of them.

"What's that?" Newkirk asked.

"Looks like a picture from Klink's time in the war," Hogan answered, picking it up for all of them to see. "One of him and his commanding crew."

"Uncle Rudi!" Kalina squealed.

"_Who_?" Both Allied prisoners remarked.

"Major Rudolf Schneider of the Luftwaffe. He and Papa have been best friends since childhood, and he now works in Berlin as General Burkhalter's adjutant. I didn't know he served with Papa in the same squadron." She clarified.

"Looks like your Uncle Rudi there was your father's second in command by the insignia he's wearing. A total of seven men under his and your father's command," Hogan said, looking at the picture closely.

Kalina turned to look at the man in the center of the picture and smiled with pride.

"Papa looks different without his monocle," she said.

The American chuckled.

"That he sure does." He agreed. Besides the missing monocle and minor weight gain the modern day Klink had, it was still their same old Colonel Klink they knew and loved. Same eyes, same goofy smile, same lack of hair. Only difference was that the man's current gray hairs were then a deep black like the rest of it.

"Wait a minute, who's that guy over there?" Newkirk questioned.

"What guy?" Hogan asked, confused.

"That one, over there in the back. He looks like the one with the highest ranking. Major, I think," the Englishman answered, pointing to someone towards the back left of the picture.

The three examined the picture in deep analysis, when they spotted familiar facial features that caused all of their eyes to bug out in astonishment.

"My God, it _can't_ be!" Hogan gasped.

"Is _that_ General Burkhalter?" Kalina asked, dumbfounded.

"By George, I think it is," Newkirk said, just as shocked as the rest of them.

"Holy cats!" The American exclaimed.

"He's so _young_!" The teenager cried.

"And has hair, too."

"Look how thin he was. The years were not kind to the man." The corporal added

"Looks like Klink and the general really _do_ go back a long ways." Hogan commented.

"Well," Newkirk said. "If we wanna learn more about Ol' Bald Eagle here, we better get readin'. Where do we start, Sir?"

"What better place _to_ start: the beginning," Hogan said, flipping open to the first page. He cleared his throat and began to read. "May 29, 1916: Dear journal, Today was my first day of command and being on my assigned base in Stuttgart."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Hey, folks. Just a quick note here. The character of Rudolf Schneider you're going to see for the remainder of the story is based off of one that an old friend of mine created for a story she wrote on here before she abruptly terminated her account and ended our friendship. I can't quite recall the title of her story, but her character was Captain Rudolf Schwarz. Schneider's identity is entirely mine, but I wanted to give my friend some created for where he came from. It hurts to think about my old friend, but she deserves all the respect and credit I can give her. So thank you, Winterfrost. I don't know where you are now, but my character Rudolf Schneider is dedicated to you and our old friendship. Without further ado, here's chapter three. As always, please leave a review for me. I love them, as you know. :)

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**Chapter 3:**

(_May 29, 1916: Kändler Air Base-Stuttgart, Germany_)

Captain Wilhelm Klink, just graduated from military school, walked through his newly assigned air base alongside with his best friend and now second in command, Lieutenant Rudolf Schneider. The two had been friends since they met at the age of five and attended the same military school, but went under the command of different drill sergeants and commanding officers.

Whereas Schneider immediately went into the _Fliegertruppe_, Klink had originally trained with the German Army, _Deutsches Heer_. He had done fairly well at the beginning with combat training and coming up with military tactics, but his success took a complete 180 when he and his unit began living in trenches for a period of five months in the middle of nowhere. Men started to drop dead from illness, terrible conditions, and lack of food supply. Some went insane from malnutrition or claustrophobia, and some even became violent and killed their own countrymen. Seeing so many people die and live in such horrendous conditions made Klink sick to his stomach. He had never liked war or violence. He never grew a mean bone in his body and did his best to be nice to other people. Though his father, also a military man, had been strict and authoritative, he had raised Klink and his older brother, Wolfgang, to treat others with respect and kindness. So when he had to live with nothing but violence and death for over half a year, it almost drove him crazy. His brother may have been able to do it, as he was the more thick-skinned, stubborn of the two boys, but he could not serve in the military due to his eyesight. Without his glasses, Wolfgang Klink was practically blind.

When trench training had ended, and the remaining unit returned to school, Klink withdrew from the army almost instantly, transferred into the _Fliegertruppe_, and once again excelled in his training. He even became one of the youngest men to be promoted to a captain. If he had to fight in war, he was going to do so with others living in good conditions and treating each other as equals. Since his transfer, he had gained strong confidence, better mental stability, made many friendships with the men he trained with, and never regretted his decision.

"Look at this, Wilhelm!" Schneider cried, with a bold grin. "Your own air base and squadron!"

The lieutenant's enthusiasm got a chuckle from his best companion.

"_Our_ air base, _mein Freund_," Klink said, blushing a bit.

"Well, I guess it's technically Major Burkhalter's air base, but the squadron's all yours," Schneider answered, his dark brown eyes sparking in the sunlight. He was a few feet taller than Klink and had wavy black hair.

The young captain shook his head, still in disbelief at everything happening in that moment. His own crew, his childhood friend standing by his side as second commander, it felt to him as if yesterday had been his first day of _Fliegertruppe_ training. How quickly things went by. The current position he held was near breathtaking.

"My own commanding crew...it absolutely stuns me, Rudi," Klink said.

"You worked hard for it, Wilhelm. Remember that," the lieutenant spoke, with pride.

The response he got was a gentle smile and soft nod.

"I will," the captain answered.

Schneider gave a sigh, looked ahead of them, then back at Klink.

"You ready to meet your new crew?" He asked.

"I don't know, I'm a little nervous," Klink answered, butterflies fluttering inside him. As excited as he was to meet everyone, it scared the hell out of him. What if they did not like him? What if they were rude and mean to one another? What if he could not have a single hold on any of them? He wanted to make Schneider proud. He wanted to make his new commanding officer, Major Albert Burkhalter, proud. He wanted to make his _country_ proud.

"Ah, don't be. If they start giving you a hard time, we'll just send good old Captain Krahl after them." The lieutenant replied, with the wave of his hand.

"I want them to _listen_ to me, Rudi; not be _afraid_ of me," Klink said, with a faint chuckle.

Schneider laughed in response, then put a firm hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Come on, Captain. Let's get going," he answered.

The two officers grinned at one another, then continued their trek further into the air base. There were seven flyers waiting for them, and nine introductions to give one another.

Klink's seven men gathered around in an outside common area in the middle of the air base. Three men sat on the ground, three sat on boulders, and the highest ranking out of all of them stood with his arms crossed. As they waited to meet their new commanding officers, the flyers conversed with one another on what the two officers might be like.

"Hey guys?" The youngest of them, Private Lars Traeger, began. "Do you think this Captain Klink will be a nice officer?"

"Ha! If he's like any of the past commanding officers I've met, he's just a big, cocky airhead who thinks he's as great as the Kaiser himself." The highest ranking flyer, Sergeant Gerard Engel, scoffed.

"Maybe he's a big pushover that we can pull the wool over his eyes with," another flyer, Corporal Karsten Boeck, said.

"Oh no. You really think he might be awful?" Traeger asked, with growing anxiety. The young man had light brown hair and baby blue eyes. He had just got out of school and was a little older than 18 years of age. After all the rumors he had heard of commanding officers in the military, he was afraid of getting stuck with someone that would do nothing but bark and holler at him. Someone that would make him feel worthless and have no one to turn to if he needed advice or encouragement.

"Would you two quit scaring the poor kid? You're making him a _nervöses Wrack_. I'm sure _Herr Hauptmann_ is a very intelligent and decent human being. Not all officers are cocky and mean," the other sergeant, Erik Basse, said. He sat on one of the boulders with his right arm resting on top of his knee and had dark brown hair and green eyes. He was the level headed and calm one out of the bunch and had taken Traeger under his wing. He remembered the private's first day in a squadron and how frightened he had been. Until Captain Klink had arrived and took over, the younger sergeant promised that he would make the youngest member feel safe and had a friend to turn to.

"As long as he's fair and doesn't scream and holler commands at me like Major Schumann did at boot camp, I'm fine as rain." A corporal named Otto Rauland replied. "_Man_, did I hate that man. Don't do this, don't do that, don't go here, don't go there, who did he think he was; my mother?"

Boeck turned to his good friend, Private Diedrich Hausner, who was sitting on the ground beside his boulder.

"Hey, Hausner. You remember when we pulled that prank on Colonel Rhinelander?" He asked, with a mischievous grin.

"The one where we put a live snake in his bed? That was _genius_!" Hausner laughed.

"He sounded just like a schoolgirl!"

The two began to laugh like morons, until Rauland interrupted them.

"You put a live snake in your drill sergeant's bed?!"

"You bet your every last _pfennig_ we did," Boeck said, trying to get himself under control.

"Why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?" Basse asked, finding the prank idea completely absurd.

"Because it was _hilarious_!" Hausner cheered. He and Boeck were soon splitting their sides like idiots again.

"Uh, guys? You might wanna stand up and get ready," Rauland said, getting to his feet shaky.

"Why's that?" Traeger asked, curious.

"Cause here come our new commanders...and they do _not_ look like pushovers," the corporal answered, with a gulp.

Traeger turned in the same direction Rauland was facing, spotted Klink and Schneider, then shot to his feet and bolted for Basse's side. The sergeant looked down at his friend and wrapped an arm around him.

"Don't worry, kid. I got a good feeling about these guys," Basse said, with a gentle smile.

The poor private nodded, but his body continued to shake violently with fear.

"Someone hide me! Those are not pushovers! Repeat, those are _not_ pushovers!" Boeck wailed, and dashed behind Engel, who turned to look at the corporal and shoved him away.

"Oh, give me a break! You're acting like a little kid. They're as scary as a bunny rabbit." The sergeant sneered.

"You're not scared of them at least a _little_ bit?!" Hausner exclaimed, standing as straight and as tall as he possibly could.

That got Engel to laugh hysterically.

"You kidding me? I'm not scared one bit of those guys," he answered, then quickly changed his mind the minute he got a closer look at the two officers headed their way.

Klink was dead quiet and resembled a hawk carefully watching its prey. His blue eyes held a serious tone and looked like he could order just about anything if one of them decided to screw around.

Schneider was just as frightening, maybe even a tad more than the captain himself. His brown eyes lit up like flames coming from a campfire and glared at all of them coldly. As if he would snap at any moment and go on a mass killing spree. His facial expression said 'no jokes and no messing around, or else.' Put the two officers together, and they made just about every part of your body send a brutal chill up and down it.

"Okay, maybe I am just a little," Engel said, siding up against Boeck as a shield.

The group of seven fell silent the minute Klink and Schneider reached them, stood before them, and scanned them up and down one by one. The minute they got to Traeger, the private shrunk his shoulders and grabbed on tight to Basse's arm.

"They're looking at me. Why are they looking at me?" He whimpered, just barely above a whisper.

"Just stand tall and be silent. They're just inspecting us," Basse said, through his teeth.

"_Inspecting_ us, for what? I didn't do anything wrong."

"Just stay quiet and stand tall, kid."

Traeger listened to his friend and returned to standing tall at attention, but could not stop himself from shaking. The longer they stood there in silence, the more his fear rose.

Once they had scanned the last man in line, Klink and Schneider turned to one another and nodded. They exchanged a hidden message only they understood, then looked back at the flyers before them with stern and malicious looking expressions.

"_Achtung_!" Schneider barked.

The flyers straightened out more and tried to stand with as little intimidation on their faces as possible.

"I am Lieutenant Rudolf Schneider, and that is Captain Wilhelm Klink. I'm his second in command and will be assisting him with this squadron for the remainder of the war. If you give us your respect, we will give you ours. There will absolutely be no back talk, rebellion, smart mouth comments, or disobeying, or _Herr Hauptmann_ will see to it you serve suitable punishment for your act, _verstehen_?"

"_Jawohl, Herr Leutnant_!" All seven men replied, in unison.

The flyer who had been quiet up till now, Corporal Konrad Kaftan, slowly lifted his hand in the air and waited for permission to speak.

"Corporal, what is your question?" The lieutenant asked, his voice remaining firm.

"_Herr Leutnant_...does uh...does _Herr Hauptmann_ talk?" Kaftan asked, with hesitance.

Klink snapped his eyes to the corporal and glared at him.

"You wish to say something to me, Corporal?" He remarked, like he was about to lose his temper.

"_Nein_, Sir. I'll speak only when you tell me to, _Herr Hauptmann_!" Kaftan trembled.

Klink watched him a moment longer, then turned to the center and addressed all of them.

"I want all of you to go down the line and introduce yourselves. I want your name and your rank. Nothing more. I'll start with you down here," he ordered, looking at Engel.

The leading flyer was silent for a brief moment, but finally spoke.

"Sergeant Gerard Engel, Sir."

Klink then turned to the next man in line.

"Corporal Karsten Boeck, Sir."

"I'm Private Diedrich Hausner, _Herr Hauptmann_."

"Otto Rauland, corporal."

"Konrad Kaftan, corporal."

The captain nodded, then looked at Traeger. The private was as silent as a tombstone. His teeth loudly chattered against one another and felt his vocal chords disintegrate. He had never feared anyone more than the man standing before him at that very moment.

"Private, what is your name?" Klink asked, terse.

Traeger froze in place and simply stared at his commander in horror. No matter how much he tried, he could not find his voice, nor get his mouth to open. The more Klink gawked at him, the worse he got.

Seeing the young man's distress, Basse took it under his duty to speak for him.

"His name is Private Lars Traeger, Captain. He's alright, Sir. He's just nervous is all."

The captain watched the private for a moment longer, then realized he was not getting anything out of the boy. As much as he wanted to soften his demeanor and give the man a kind smile to reassure him, Klink had to remain strict and firm. It was the only way he was going to get these men to listen to him and show him courtesy for the position he held.

Without a word, the officer made his eyes to Basse and got a much better response.

"Sergeant Erik Basse, Sir," the sergeant said.

Klink nodded, then stepped back and again addressed them all.

"Gentlemen, you're all dismissed. I will see you all tonight at evening roll call," he said, with a salute.

The seven returned the gesture and dispersed into different directions.

Klink sighed with relief, then turned to his friend.

"You think I was too rough with them?" He worried.

"You were exactly the way you're supposed to be. You had to put them in their place," Schneider said.

"I feel like I could have gone easier on that poor private. I never meant to terrify him."

"He's just young, Wilhelm. He's new to this, he'll warm up soon enough."

As the captain was about to start a different topic, both he and Schneider noticed Basse and a shaking Traeger headed their way. When the flyers finally reached their commanders, Basse gave a strong salute and received the same in return from both officers.

"Sergeant, something I can assist you with?" Klink asked.

"_Hauptmann Klink_, I would like to personally introduce to you Private Traeger," the sergeant answered, gesturing to the anxiety ridden soldier.

Klink gave a friendly smile and nodded.

"Private Traeger, it's good to meet you," he said sincerely.

"_Gut...gut...guten mor, mor morgen, Herr Hauptmann_." Traeger stuttered.

The commanding officer's smile widened a bit, glad that the private was finally somewhat comfortable with speaking to him. He vowed at that very moment he would take the young man under his wing and be a mentor for him. Traeger was a teenager entering manhood in Klink's eyes, and teenagers needed someone to turn to for advice and guidance.

"Don't be afraid of me, Private Traeger. I'm a friend, not an enemy," he said kindly.

"_Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann_. Forgive me, Sir. I've just heard of many bad experiences with commanding officers from my friends, _Herr Hauptmann_."

"I'm not one of those commanding officers, Private. I'm always here if something's troubling you."

And with that, Traeger gave a small smile. He liked Klink now that he had talked to him more. He was kind, yet he knew when to be serious and firm. The private was no longer frightened by the captain after talking with him. In fact, he felt more protected than scared with Klink around.

"_Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann_. I will remember that, Sir," Traeger said, with a nod.

"_Gut_. Now go relax for a while. Evening roll call will come soon," Klink answered.

Traeger nodded, and walked off with Basse to their barracks.

Schneider grinned at the exchange and looked at his commanding officer.

"See, you already got two that like you," he said.

"It's the other five that have me worried, Rudi. What if they don't like me?" The captain replied.

"Now that's just ridiculous! Why wouldn't they like you?"

"They get the idea that I'm a mean, nasty commander that does nothing but holler at those under my command. I know what Private Traeger means, I've seen and witnessed officers do it back at the academy. If I'm too soft, though, they'll take advantage of me for their own good." Klink sighed, the heavy weight of being in charge already settling onto his shoulders. "What if I can't be a good commanding officer?"

"You're not giving yourself enough credit, Wilhelm. You would have never been promoted to captain and assigned your own squadron had the big dogs thought you wouldn't make a good leader. You're smart. Strong. Wise. By God, you're even more stubborn than a mule sometimes. You're going to be the best damn commanding officer Germany's ever seen, Wilhelm. Might even get recognition from _Herr Kaiser_ himself."

Klink smirked.

"I wouldn't go _that_ far...but I appreciate the encouragement, Rudi. _Danke_," he said.

"What's a best friend for," Schneider answered. "Now let's get going. I want to see if your quarters has enough room for me to crash there if I get bored."

Klink laughed, nodded, and the two officers started walking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Night fell quickly, and after evening roll call and dinner, Klink and Schneider relaxed in the captain's quarters listening to music and drinking good brandy. The captain himself lay on his sofa, and Schneider sat across from him in a dark blue chair. At the moment, the song '_Wir wollen unseren alten Kaiser Wilhelm wiederhaben_' was playing and filling both officers with immense pride for their country and its superior past and present leaders.

"Oh, I never get sick of hearing this song," the lieutenant said, cheerful.

Klink closed his eyes, rocked his head from side to side, and sang softly once and awhile. It was quieter than an average man's singing voice, but it was soft and pretty. Soothing and comforting, a voice that could calm and put anyone in a peaceful and content mood.

"Should dig out your violin and start playing this song. I'd have my own private concert," Schneider answered, crossing his leg.

Klink gave a bashful chuckle.

"I'd need a sheet of music to look at in order to do that." He replied.

"Nah. You're a talented enough musician and singer. I think you could do it by memory," the lieutenant said.

The captain shook his head with a smile. He was about to ask Schneider if he had stuck with his singing, when the song ended, and a report from Berlin came in.

"_Men and women of Germany, this is your Kaiser speaking from Berlin. I regret to inform you that tonight our nation's capital went under attack. Berlin has been bombed and critically damaged by the French Air Force. Many lives have been lost, and many more are currently missing. This is not only an attack on Berlin, but to the German people as well. I have ordered troops to be doubled at the Western Front and any suspicious aircraft flying over Berlin to be shot down without hesitation. Further instruction and orders will be given to all military generals later this evening. This is Kaiser Wilhelm II from Berlin saying 'goodnight'_."

Klink turned the knob on the radio to shut the device off and sat there in shock. Their nation's capital bombed severely by the enemy. Innocent lives both dead and missing. He shook his head and closed his eyes, filled with immense emotional pain. He knew people died in war. That was expected, and that was what he always tried to prepare for...but no matter what he did or how much he tried, he felt both sad and disgusted every time someone died in this war or from a senseless act of cruelty and injustice. It did not make a difference to him what nationality or race it was; a life was a life. If he could, if it were even _possible_ to do in war, he wish he could save _every_ life fighting for their country's cause.

Schneider, on the other hand, was fuming. His eyes flickered with fury and shook his head as he ground his teeth together and clenched his fist with rage. How dare someone attack his Germany. How dare someone kill his own countrymen. He knew not all Frenchmen were murderers and enemies of the German Empire, but those who were he felt needed to be killed and taught an important thing: to never mess with the Germans.

"Those sons of a…" the lieutenant stopped himself before finishing his thought. He could not let his emotions get the better of him now. He had a duty to his country and had to represent Germany as tough and tactical people; not irrational and mass killers.

"It's a terrible thing that has happened," Klink said, soft.

"This is an insult to Berlin. This is an insult to our country and its people!"

"I know...I'm very well aware of that."

"We have to get revenge. We must show those Frenchmen just who we Germans are!"

"And revenge we will get. But we first need a plan."

"Like our own surprise sabotage attack?"

The captain gave a nod with a serious expression to his face.

"That's not a bad idea, Captain...but how do we do it?" Schneider asked, intrigued.

"I know there's a huge ammunition factory in Paris that I keep hearing about. If we managed to knock that out, we could possibly set the Allies back for awhile." Klink explained.

"It will be highly under guard if it's as important as you say it is. We would have to execute it extremely well in order to be successful."

"Which is why I think attacking at night would give us a better advantage at succeeding in our attack."

"We'll need a strong, near flawless attack in order to get it approved by Major Burkhalter. I heard from another captain earlier that it's very difficult to get something passed through him unless it's an attack ordered by him."

"Then we better get started right away. We have our first attack to get ready for," Klink said, getting to his feet.

Schneider followed his friend into his bedroom, and the two German officers got to work.

* * *

Klink and Schneider spent half of the night plotting out their sabotage plan on the Paris ammunition factory and what angles to come in for an attack. It took several hours to come to a plausible and unexpected tactic, but the two finally had success and began assigning jobs, plotting a map with their planes' course of directions, and charting what areas of the factory would be bombed with estimated times of the attack.

Halfway through the following day, the two officers made their way to the office of Major Albert Burkhalter for their plan's approval. They sat before the intimidating, older man with anxiety growing inside their bodies as he looked over everything on his desk.

Burkhalter was a thin and tall man with thick black hair and piercing dark eyes. He was just shy of 28 years of age and had become a prosperous, well known figure in the _Fliegertruppe_. He was a successful career officer with many awards, decorations, and had strong connections with colonels and generals stationed in Berlin. This made him very reputable and intimidating to many lieutenants, captains, and even some other majors. His strict, somber personality helped with that intimidation. He took his duties very seriously and had no time for anyone's fooling around and immaturity. For those reasons, he resembled more of an ornery, humorless middle aged man than a lively, energetic one in his twenties.

For about forty minutes, nothing but silence filled the room. Though the major nodded and made facial expressions that resembled being impressed, it was impossible for both Klink and Schneider to tell what the man was thinking. They watched as Burkhalter's eyes scanned and re-scanned their plans, then the duo were taken back by the major's abrupt response.

"Impressive, Klink. Very impressive indeed. How long did you and Lieutenant Schneider think this plan out?"

"About four hours, _Herr Major_," the captain answered.

"This sabotage plan just might work. In fact, it could actually put Germany a step ahead in the war."

"So...you'll let us do it?" Burkhalter's words were music to Klink's ears. His eyes twinkled with hope and excitement.

"It has my approval. You attack tomorrow night. Good luck, gentlemen," the major said, handing the documents back over to Schneider.

"_Danke, Herr Major_. I promise to bring back Germany a glorious victory!" Klink reassured his commanding officer.

"I will hold you to that promise. I will meet with you tomorrow once you get back from Paris."

Both the captain and Schneider gave strong salutes, received one in return, then quietly left Burkhalter's office.

Once outside, the lieutenant turned to Klink and put a proud hand on his shoulder.

"We did it, Wilhelm; we got our plan approved!" He cried with glee.

Klink gave a soft chuckle in response.

"And we have lots to do to prepare us for tomorrow night," he said.

"Come on, then. We better go round up the boys," Schneider answered.

Klink nodded with a wide grin, and the two officers took off for the recreational hall.

* * *

"Sergeant Engel, you and your unit will fly over and attack this coordinate. Sergeant Basse, you and your unit will attack here, and Lieutenant Schneider, Corporal Kaftan, and I will attack here," Klink said, as he pointed to different coordinates on the map displayed before everyone.

"Does it have to be exactly _there_, Captain, or can it be a little off and still work, Sir? There's no telling how fast our planes will pass over the site," Basse pointed out.

"As long as it's close enough to do the job, no, it does not need to be exactly on target," Klink answered. "Very good question, Sergeant."

"Do we have a strategy to avoid any guns or cannons that will try to shoot us down?" Kaftan questioned.

"It will be at night, so they will hear us more than see us, but fly at a slight angle when going in for an attack to be safe," the captain said.

"Hey, if we're going to Paris, can we stop and get a croissant while we're there?" Hausner asked.

"Why in God's name would you be a _dummkopf_ and land your plane in enemy territory?" Engel sneered.

"I get hungry when working," the private said defensively.

"You think this is a joke, you nitwit?"

"No, I'm serious. I want to know if I can get a croissant!"

"Have fun being a Frenchman's crème brûlée." Rauland snickered, crossing his arms.

"Hey, have him save me a slice!" Boeck called out.

Besides Engel, Basse, Kaftan, and Hausner, the remaining three flyers bursted out laughing at the comment. It did not pass by as very funny, however, to Klink and Schneider. The captain grew very quiet and slammed his swagger stick down on the table while giving a malicious glare at his men. The reaction made everyone fall dead silent and stand in their places frozen stiff. All seven flyers knew they had just pushed their luck too far and got chewed up for it.

"You all think this is funny?! Over half of your countrymen were killed last night in Berlin, and all of you are standing here talking about being hungry and treating this like it's a game of _fußball_!" He spat with disgust.

None of Klink's men spoke. They were all too ashamed of themselves and their behavior. All they could do was hang their heads in shame and put their arms behind their backs.

Once he was sure he had all of their attention, Klink continued to speak.

"We leave here tomorrow night at 2200 hours. Anyone who laughs then I will make sure sees severe consequences given by Major Burkhalter! _Mache ich mich klar_?" (1)

"Yes, Sir," the seven men said simultaneously.

The captain glared at them for a moment longer, then gave the salute for dismissal.

The flyers started filing out of the recreational hall, but the last man in line, Traeger, hesitated with leaving. He looked back at his commanders and wondered if now was the time to go talk to them. When he tried to take a step forward or backwards, he froze in his tracks. It made him both frustrated and increasingly anxious. Why could he not be like the others and have the guts to speak to a military officer without fear of rejection?

Getting the feeling that someone was still with them, Schneider looked up from gathering a pile of documents and spotted the youngest man in their command standing in silence.

"Private, can I help you with something?" He asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"I uh...I just wanted to...that is if he's not busy, I...can I...may I...is it...can I speak with..._Herr Hauptmann_?" Traeger asked, shaky.

Schneider turned his eyes to Klink for approval. The captain looked back at him for a moment with a neutral expression, then turned to Traeger.

"Private, you have permission to speak," he said, a tad rough.

"I...want to apologize for earlier, _Herr Hauptmann_. It was inappropriate behavior for the setting, and it will never happen again, _Herr Hauptmann_," Traeger answered sincerely.

"You're forgiven. Is there anything else?"

The private opened his mouth, but then hung his head and shook it in shame.

"Forget it...I'll sound like a complete fool if I say it," he said, dim.

Klink raised his eyebrow, sensing that something was bothering his youngest flyer, but could not determine what it was. He took a few steps around the table, leaned against it, and crossed his arms.

"Private Traeger, what's bothering you?" The captain asked, his voice dropping to a more friendly tone.

"It's just...it's just that...I...I don't think I'm a good enough flyer to be under your command, Sir," Traeger answered.

The response made Klink's eyes widen. He felt both concerned and sympathetic towards his private. Why would he believe such an awful thing about himself, he wondered.

"What makes you say a thing like that?" He asked.

"I'm not a good flyer, Captain Klink. I don't have as much experience in combat like the others, the idea of possibly being shot down and taken away to an enemy stalag terrifies me, and I'm not courageous either," Traeger said, hanging his head. He could not even look his captain in the eye from how embarrassed and humiliated he felt.

"Only a soldier with courage would be able to admit his flaws to his commanding officer like you're doing now."

The words taking him by surprise, Traeger finally had the guts to look his commander in the eye.

"Admitting my flaws makes me courageous?" He remarked.

Klink gave a kind smile.

"You're a good kid, Private Traeger. I see lots of potential in you. Facing unknown territory is _always_ scary at first. That's what learning is for. After three or four assignments, you won't be as scared anymore. It gets easier after a while. Soon you'll be flying your own plane and leading your own squadron into victory," he said.

The young man's eyes lit up, and a smile of his own started making its way onto his face.

"You think I'm good enough to someday be an officer myself?" Traeger asked, with hope.

"I don't think; I _know_ you are," Klink answered, then put a gentle hand on Traeger's arm. "Now go rest up and do something fun. You have a big day tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir," the private said, and gave a strong salute. He received one in return and started for the door, when he paused and looked back. "Captain Klink."

The officer in calling looked up from the table at him.

"You're a good commanding officer, Sir," Traeger said with a grin.

The compliment made Klink blush and give a soft chuckle.

"_Danke_, Private. I appreciate the compliment," he said.

Traeger nodded, waved 'goodbye', then closed the door behind him.

Once everyone had left, Klink went back to gathering his documents, when he noticed his second in command looking at him. When the captain looked up in his direction, Schneider gave a wink that said 'I told you so' regarding him being a good commander.

Klink rolled his eyes and shook his head while smiling.

"Get back to work, Lieutenant," he joked. "We're going to need all the sleep we can get tonight."

The two officers finished gathering their materials, then they both left the recreational hall and headed back to their quarters. Tomorrow night would come quickly, and so would their first assignment.

* * *

(1) _Mache ich mich klar_ \- Do I make myself clear?


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

(_Stalag 13-Hammelburg, Germany: Present Day_)

"Blimey," Newkirk gasped in amazement. "Old Klink really knew how to _stick_ it to a man."

"He was a lot more assertive and dissuasive, too. I wonder what made him soften up and become the Colonel Klink we know and love today," Hogan said, his mind beginning to wander. It would have had to have been something quite horrific and traumatic to make the German colonel go from a tough, no messing around officer to a bumbling, easily persuasive camp kommandant. But what was the question.

"We gotta keep going. I'm way too sucked in to stop now," Kalina said, eager to learn more.

"Does it say if his first assignment was successful or not, Gov?" The Englishman asked.

Hogan scanned the next journal entry and nodded.

"Looks like this next one gives us that answer," he answered.

"Did he and his guys defeat the French?" Kalina asked, her eyes twinkling with pride.

"Only one way to find out. Shall we?" The colonel asked.

"Yes. We shall," Newkirk said with a firm nod.

Hogan shook his head while wearing a grin, then lifted the journal back up and resumed reading.

"May 31, 1916."

* * *

(_May 31, 1916: Stuttgart, Germany_)

It was 9:45PM; take off for Paris would be in another fifteen minutes. As the flyers got into their planes and started checking the engines and controls, Klink paced back and forth in front of his plane filled with intense fear. He was worried about failing. Looking like an idiot in front of Burkhalter. The lives of his men and best friend most of all. What if he could not save them? What if his attack failed? What if his plane got shot down and lost his _own_ life? The possible 'what ifs' continued to make him shudder and pace vigorously. He was about to put a rut in the ground, when Schneider approached him and saw his friend's discomfort.

"Captain," he said. "Everything alright?"

"Huh?" Klink asked, turning to see who it was that was speaking to him. "Oh. Yes, I'm alright...just nervous is all."

"You have nothing to be nervous about, _mein Freund_. You've trained several years for this. You'll lead us to nothing but victory."

"That's exactly what I'm nervous about: leading us into failure...or our deaths. This isn't flight training anymore, Rudi. There's no 'try again' this time."

"There will be no failure or deaths, Wilhelm. My gut's telling me so. You know very well my gut is rarely wrong."

"I just want to make Germany proud. I want to make Major Burkhalter proud...I want to make my men proud."

"And when we come back from Paris later tonight, they'll _all_ be proud of you. Just think of the huge parade they'll have in Berlin to celebrate you."

That got a chuckle out of Klink.

"I don't think Berlin will go to that much trouble for _my_ sake," he said.

"You might be surprised, Captain. You might just very well be surprised." Schneider replied.

Klink smiled, grateful to have a friend like Schneider. He would be completely lost without him in his life.

"_Danke, Rudi_. I needed that," he said sincerely.

The lieutenant smiled back and nodded, then looked down at his watch.

"Well, better start boarding. Take off's in seven minutes," he answered, patting the metal nose of their plane.

The captain nodded in response, then looked back at the other two planes beside them.

"_Starten Sie die Motoren, Männer. Unsere nächste Station ist Paris_!" (1)

* * *

It was about 11:30 when Klink's team reached the city of Paris. As they continued flying to their destination, Boeck looked down from his plane to see if he could tell where the ground was. Not able to see with the little light the moon provided, he turned back to the other two with him, Engel and Rauland.

"How high up do you think we are?" The curious corporal asked.

"Couple thousand feet maybe? No more than 10,000 feet," Engel said, focused on navigating the plane.

Boeck gulped.

"That's sure a long way down," he said, adrenaline starting to run through his blood stream.

"Not scared, are you, Corporal?" The sergeant teased.

"_Me_?! Ha! I'm not scared. I'm not scared of anything!"

"Then I dare you to parachute out of this plane and down below into enemy territory."

Boeck's body locked in place and froze in his spot at the request.

"I'd rather not," he answered, shaky.

"Alright, alright, cut the chit chat, folks. We'll be flying over our destination in a few minutes," Basse called over, flying side by side with Engel's plane.

"Is it too late to go back?" Boeck asked, starting to feel chicken.

"You crazy?! We've gotten this far, and you wanna turn around _now_?" Engel exclaimed.

"Well, you see, there's this thing I really enjoy doing. Yeah, it's called BREATHING!"

In the leading plane, Kaftan looked down to see if he could spot the ammunition factory that awaited them. When he could not spot anything, he turned his eyes to Klink.

"How much longer till we're there, Captain?" He asked.

"About another four minutes, Corporal," the captain said, his eyes never leaving the sight of the open sky.

"Get your positions ready! Target's four minutes away!" Schneider commanded, yelling back at the other two planes.

Engel thrusted on the controls and went far right, while Basse did the opposite and furthered left. Both continued to follow their commander from behind and grabbed a hold of their controllers, ready for the order to attack at any given moment.

As they continued on course, Klink's heart started pounding harder and harder, causing him to feel hot. There was no turning back now. His only option was to keep going forward into enemy land. Intense pressure started to weigh on his shoulders. The lives of his men, Germany's advancement in the war, and Burkhalter's trust in competent work all depended on the success of this assignment. If they accomplished it, they would bring home a win for their country and would gain more freedom to plan and order their own assignments in the future. If they failed, many men may not get to see the trip back home...Klink _himself_ might not get to see the trip home. The thoughts rushing through his head made him grip onto the controllers tighter as if they were the key to survival. _Attack and get home. Attack and get home. That's all you have to do_, he kept telling himself.

Kaftan looked down from the plane and spotted something that resembled a fireball rising more and more at an incredible speed near their aircraft.

"Hey, Captain. Why are we seeing fireworks?" He asked, lifting his eyebrow in suspicion.

Klink looked over briefly, swallowed a knot in his throat, and snapped his eyes back to what was ahead of them.

"That's not fireworks; that's an anti-air gunfire," he answered, slight apprehension in his voice.

The sound of air raid sirens could soon be heard ringing through the night, and spotlights soon joined with them.

"Basse, they've spotted us!" Traeger cried.

"Stay calm, Private. You two hold on. We're going in for an attack," the sergeant in calling answered. He leaned on the thrusters and took their plane in for bombing the east side of the factory.

As the three German planes went lower for attack, the louder the sirens and sounds of gunfire became. Once in seeing sight of the ammunition factory, bombs were dropped down on their approximate target, and the sound of explosions joined and became one in the night air.

Schneider looked down from his spot in the plane and spotted a gunshot headed towards them.

"Captain, go right! Go right!" He bellowed.

Klink looked down below, saw the fireball spinning at them, and his eyes widened in horror. He did as told and swiftly dashed the gunshot just seconds before it would have struck them. As soon as he saw they were in the clear, the German captain gave a small sigh of brief relief. It almost immediately ended when gunfire and explosions again rung out.

Kaftan grabbed onto Schneider's left arm automatically in fear, but the lieutenant took no notice of him. He was too focused on spotting anymore gunfire or spotlights coming from below.

"Take us home, Captain. That factory's beyond saving now," Schneider commanded, seeing the flames and black smoke rising from the ground.

Klink maneuvered the plane in for a right turn and made a 180 degree turn, his men following his lead.

"Why are they still shooting at us, Captain? Their factory's gone!" Kaftan asked, his voice shaking.

"Corporal, their factory may be gone, but they're not giving up without a fight," Klink answered, trying to focus on flying and avoiding gunshots.

Soon another noise joined in with the chaos, but this time it was a loud rumbling noise coming from behind the three German aircrafts. It was two French planes, and soon gunfire was coming from not only below them, but behind them as well. One almost struck at Hausner's arm, but the private was quick and brought his arm back just in time.

"Hey! Watch it! You coulda _killed_ somebody doing that!" He hollered back, as if the enemy planes could hear them.

"Rauland! Fire your gun at them! They're tailing us!" Engel commanded.

The corporal in demand turned around, loaded his gun, and set his aim to the correct place. When he was sure he had it, he pulled the trigger and watched the French plane burst into flames and go crashing down.

"I got him...I got him! Captain, I got him! Haha!" Rauland cheered, knowing Klink could not hear him.

The remaining French aircraft spotted Klink's plane and zoomed past the two other enemy planes to tail it.

"Hey, they can't do that! It's illegal!" Hausner hollered, earning a glare back from Basse. "Well it _is_!"

"They're gonna shoot down Captain Klink, Basse! We can't let him die!" Traeger cried.

"What do you want me to do, Private? I don't exactly have a gun on me!" The sergeant in command replied back, focusing on nothing but avoiding gunfire and getting back to Germany.

The young man swallowed a knot in his throat and tried to think quick on his feet. He looked down by his boots, saw a bomb sitting by him, and an idea struck him. He had grabbed it in case of an emergency or something went wrong. His commanding officer about to go down to his death _was_ one. After the kindness and encouragement Klink had given him in their short time knowing each other, he owed him that much.

Traeger furrowed his brows, picked up the bomb into his lap, and looked back up at the pilot.

"Go down," he said.

"What?" Basse asked.

"Go down. We're gonna bomb this guy out of the sky."

"Are you crazy?! You'll get us all killed!"

"No, we won't! As long as you do what I say at the exact moment I say it!"

"I am not risking us getting killed, Traeger!"

"You want Captain Klink to die?!"

"Of course not!"

"Then trust me on this! I know what I'm doing!"

Basse looked back at the young man and saw the look in his eyes. He was not scared, but determined. He had a sense of wisdom and tactile thinking emanating off of him. It gave the sergeant a reason to trust his friend and go with his plan...whatever that was. If he did not, Klink was done for. There was no way their commander could fight off the French plane much longer. He was eventually going to get unlucky and shot down. With that in mind, Basse gulped and sighed with resignation. He knew his friend was right and was willing to go for it.

"Alright. We'll do it," he said.

"On my signal, dive down at a 90 degree angle. Stay high enough that the explosion won't reach us or Captain Klink's plane." Traeger replied.

Basse nodded with acknowledgement and waited for his cue.

The young private leaned over a bit, clutching the bomb in his hands for dear life as he looked down for a moment where Klink's plane was far enough away to be safe for attacking the enemy. He almost called it a few times, but immediately stopped when the two planes overlapped one another again. He finally saw an opportunity, and it would not get better than it currently was. As soon as he saw his commander's plane pull ahead, Traeger went for it.

"_Now_, Basse!" He yelled.

"Hold on tight, you two! This is gonna get rough!" The sergeant bellowed back.

The sergeant thrusted hard on his controllers and sent the plane down sideways, lowering into the atmosphere. When they were close enough to strike, the young private ordered to stop.

"Hold position!" Traeger looked down and felt the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He swallowed again and was ready for the big gamble. "Three...two...one. _Auf wiedersehen_, Frenchies!" The private threw down the bomb as hard as he could, and it was a success. The bomb hit the French plane right in the middle, caused a violent explosion, and had the plane going down to its fiery grave within seconds. Seeing that his plan had proven life-saving, Traeger grinned with glee at the result. He had just faced his first battle with courage, and he saved his commander's life in the process.

"Private, you DID IT!" Basse cried in celebration.

"How did you know how to do that?" Hausner asked.

"Oh, it's basic geometry and physics! You see, you go down so far at a 90 degree angle, you create this thing called a…" Traeger's thought was interrupted by the sergeant in the seat ahead of them.

"Alright there, let's not start getting technical here." Basse looked back at his friend and gave him a grin filled with pride. "Good job, kid."

The young man returned the same grin, then leaned back with Hausner and began to enjoy their flight back home.

Klink looked up with amazement at Basse's plane and saw his youngest flyer giving a thumbs up to him. The sight made his eyes well up with tears that began to escape and run down his face.

"That a boy, Private. I _knew_ you could do it." He croaked, sending a smile back up. Klink looked back down ahead of him and continued to let the tears roll down. At that moment, he was not proud of the success or the win they would bring home to Germany tonight; he was proud of his boys. He was proud of Traeger most of all.

* * *

(1) _Starten Sie die Motoren, Männer. Unsere nächste Station ist Paris _\- Start the engines, men. Our next stop is Paris.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

It was around 1:00AM when Klink and his men got back to base. They were immediately surrounded by other flyers and officers cheering and congratulating them on a job well done. They all had heard the report over the radio coming from Berlin. The amount of gratitude they received both made Klink feel bashful and a little embarrassed. He was not used to all of this praise and celebration. Sure he got some from his parents growing up when he did well in school, finished an orchestra or choir concert, and completed swim meets and brought home many ribbons, medals, and trophies for his school. This, on the other hand, was a different kind of praise. A kind of praise that was a bit overwhelming to a person. Kind of like the praise he imagined the Kaiser received on a daily basis.

As everyone continued telling the captain 'good job' and celebratory greetings, Burkhalter fought his way through the crowd and ordered everyone to get back to their posts.

"All of you! Back to your duties at once! Get on, get going! _Schnell, schnell, schnell_! Back, or you all get demoted!" He barked, sending sad and gloomy officers and flyers away from Germany's heroes. When he finally reached Klink, Burkhalter put his arms behind his back and stood directly in front of the young captain. "Klink. The entire city of Berlin is celebrating you and your men tonight. They say you completely obliterated that ammunition factory to nothing more than smoldering ash."

The captain blushed and hung his head.

"Really, _Herr Major_, they make it sound much more than it actually was," he said.

"I beg to differ. The Kaiser is calling you and your squadron the spitting image of the _Fliegertruppe_. I would consider that quite an honor. You should enjoy your moment of praise, Captain," Burkhalter answered, sounding proud himself.

"I have my men to thank for this success. One actually saved mine, Lieutenant Schneider's, and Corporal Kaftan's lives." Klink looked over his shoulder and saw Traeger celebrating and fooling around with his friends. It made the captain smile. "Private Traeger!" He called.

Hearing his name, the young man spotted his commanding officer and rushed to his side. Once reaching him, he gave a strong salute.

"_Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann_!" He replied.

Klink wrapped an arm around Traeger and introduced him to the major.

"Major Burkhalter, this is the _real_ hero of tonight: Private Lars Traeger," he said, making the private blush with embarrassment. "This young man showed true courage and bravery tonight over enemy territory. Not only did he assist in the demolition of that ammunition factory, but he saved the lives of his fellow countrymen. Because of his outstanding achievement and loyalty to Germany, I wish to give him a promotion."

Traeger's eyes gaped, and his mouth hung from its hinges. He was in a complete shock at what he was hearing. When first coming over, he was just expecting to be told 'good job' and that he had proven himself wrong. Instead, he was hearing more than that; he was being promoted to the next rank up.

"_Me_?! A promotion, Captain?" He gasped.

"You earned it, Private Traeger. Shall I say _Corporal_ Traeger," Klink answered, a gentle hand on the man's shoulder.

"I...I don't know what to say, Sir. _Danke, Hauptmann Klink! Danke_," Traeger said, a wide smile growing on his face.

The excitement coming from the private made the captain chuckle.

"Go celebrate with your friends now. Just keep the drinking to a minimum is all I ask," he said.

"Yes, Sir!" Traeger replied, with a salute. He turned on his feet and hurried back to his teammates. "I'm a corporal! Guys, I'm gonna be a corporal!"

Klink laughed, then made his attention back to his superior, Schneider soon joining them.

"You two did very well tonight. I hope to see your future missions go this way." Burkhalter continued.

"You mean...I can make my own assignments from now on?...Without my superior overlooking it first?" Klink asked, his eyes beginning to twinkle.

"Use that privilege wisely, Klink. I can just as quickly take it away again."

"_Jawohl, Herr Major. Danke, Herr Major_!"

"Get some rest, you two. Job well done."

The captain and lieutenant gave strong salutes and received one in return before Burkhalter vanished into the night.

Once the major was gone, Schneider turned to his best friend with a grin.

"We did it, Wilhelm," he said.

Klink smiled back.

"We did," he answered.

"Well, what do you say; shall we head to your quarters and have a drink?" Schneider asked.

Klink nodded, and the two friends walked off to start their private party.

* * *

(_Present Day: Stalag 13_)

"Wow," Hogan said, still in amazement at what they had just read. "That Private Traeger had some guts to do what he did."

"_Corporal_ Traeger, Sir," Newkirk corrected.

"Same thing."

"Papa lead a good team. I can see _why_ Berlin threw such a celebration," Kalina said, grinning. The more they learned of Klink's time in World War I, the more pride she gained for her father. Klink was the _definition_ of strong and brave. Now she had even more evidence to prove she was right.

Newkirk was about to ask to go on, when something caught his eye on the bookshelf and became curious.

"What's this?" He questioned, pulling it off the shelf.

"Looks like some sort of record," Hogan answered.

"What is it?" Kalina asked.

"I don't know. S'not labeled. I do know _one_ way we can find out, though," the Englishman said, getting to his feet.

Hogan, taking the journal with him, and Kalina followed their friend to the record player. They watched Newkirk lower the needle and soon the sound of Germany's old national anthem filled Klink's office.

"_Heil Dir Im Siegerkranz_," the teenager said, beaming.

"Seige what?" Newkirk remarked.

"This was Germany's old national anthem before the end of World War I. Papa always cries when he hears it." Kalina clarified.

"I have to admit it _is_ kinda catchy."

Kalina closed her eyes, swayed from side to side, and began singing along with the record. Soon Newkirk joined in and even Hogan after awhile. The three marched in place and sang loud and proud. The corporal grabbed the kommandant's swagger stick off the desk and began waving it along with their marching pattern.

As they continued singing, Schultz entered inside Klink's office to check on the three to make sure they were doing their jobs. When he heard his old national anthem and saw the trio marching in place, he straightened up tall with pride, made his way over to them, and began singing and marching with them. Though World War I was over and the German Empire no longer existed, Schultz never stopped being proud of the Kaiser and of the way Germany used to be.

Hogan, Newkirk, and Kalina continued to sing their hearts out with Schultz to the old anthem and began to imagine what Old Germany was like. What had been their values? What was the ruling under the Kaiser like? Had it been a free land for all, or was there still prejudice against other nations such as France and Great Britain? They had more to read before they knew that answer and learned more about their beloved Kommandant Klink.

* * *

(_July 17, 1916: Somme River, France/Stuttgart, Germany_)

Klink and his squadron continued to strive and be one of the best in the entire _Fliegertruppe_. All of June and the beginning of July the captain had come home with more wins than losses among all other squadrons. They received continuous recognition from Berlin, and Klink had even been invited to a prestigious dinner with Burkhalter to celebrate his fine achievements in combat.

Traeger was a newly promoted corporal and excelling tremendously with his new rank. He was less apprehensive about fighting, became more assertive, and had even been appointed as Klink's assistant. He helped the captain and Schneider think of aerial attacks, perfect plans, attended meetings with Klink and Schneider, and got to sit in the leading plane with his commanders on assignments. The captain had become a father figure to the young man, and he vowed he would protect and serve his commander even if it meant his life. Had it not been for Klink and his support, Traeger knew he would not be anywhere near to the position he held currently.

Around the middle of the month, Burkhalter assigned Klink's unit to assist the German Army with the Battle of the Somme River. They were collapsing to the French and suffering massive casualties to their side. The major decided it was time the _Fliegertruppe_ step in and aid their fellow countrymen. He had selected several elite squadrons, Captain Klink's among them, for the job. They were to take out as many French troops and divisions as possible in order for the Germans to advance. Though many planes were taken out by the French, the young captain's squadron were left unscathed and performed gloriously. They had taken out approximately seven troops, four divisions, and five French planes, making it a grand total of sixteen successful attacks on France.

As usual, Klink and his squadron returned to a waiting crowd congratulating them on a job well done along with the other units that had gone with them. It was soon over, and groups of airmen and officers began to split off and go to different celebratory night parties for Germany's win.

Klink leaned against his plane to rest for a moment and let out a deep breath of air. Another win. He had helped bring home another win, and he had his second in command and amazing crew to give the credit to. Tonight would have not been possible had it not been for any of them. He could not have asked for a better unit to lead.

The captain closed his eyes and smiled with contentment, when Schneider made his way over to him. The lieutenant placed his left hand on the plane and crossed his leg while wearing a grin of his own.

"Another win for Germany, my friend," he said.

Klink chuckled.

"I'm beginning to worry everyone will start believing we'll _always_ bring home a win," he answered, turning to face Schneider.

"You can't win them all, Wilhelm. Everyone here's very well aware of that."

"So," Klink began, crossing his arms. "What party should we go and attend tonight?"

"I know Captain Berkhoff's throwing a big one. Supposed to have lots of drinks, music, and girls there."

The last word made the captain's ears perk up.

"Girls?" He asked, his eyes beginning to sparkle.

"Lots of pretty sisters of colonels and generals," Schneider added, tempting his friend with a grin of mischief.

"Well, how can I turn down a party when there'll be girls there?"

"That's what _I_ said."

Both men laughed and began making their way to Berkhoff's quarters, when they paused in their trek and spotted an unfamiliar officer speaking with one of their friends, Lieutenant Baer. The lieutenant pointed in Klink and Schneider's direction, and the other officer, an army brigadier, made his way over to the duo. Once reaching them, he gave a salute and received two in return.

"_Herr Brigadegeneral_, how can we be of assistance to you tonight?" Klink asked.

"You're Captain Klink?" The brigadier asked.

"_Jawohl, Herr Brigadegeneral_."

"I'm Brigadier Johnen of the 271st Army Division. Were you familiar with a Warrant Officer Kurt Hauke?"

"Yes, he was my good friend when I was originally training with the army. Why? Is he here?" The captain's eyes lit up like the sun with excitement. He had not seen Hauke since he transferred to the air force in the fall of 1914. They had kept in touch by phone calls, but became too busy with their training and studies to make time for a visit. He had missed his friend so and was bursting with energy at the fact of seeing him again.

Unfortunately, that was not the vibe Johnen was sending to him. The brigadier's facial expression was grim and did not look like he had good news to share.

"No...he's not. I'm sorry to report that your friend, Warrant Officer Hauke, was killed earlier tonight in combat," Johnen said, his eyes holding empathy within them.

Klink felt his heart shatter at what he was hearing. His eyes widened in horror and began having difficulty breathing.

"What?" He croaked, hardly able to speak.

"He received a fatal gunshot wound to the heart from an enemy soldier in tonight's battle. The medics on scene tried to revive him on their way to the hospital, but I'm afraid their efforts weren't good enough. He died within minutes before arriving to the hospital...I am very sorry for your loss, _Herr Hauptmann_." The brigadier continued.

Klink gripped onto Schneider's arm for dear life, his breathing becoming rapid. He shook his head, desperately trying to wake himself up from the nightmare he was living.

"No...no...no, tell me you're lying! _Bitte_, tell me you're lying." He begged.

"I wish I were, Captain. I assure you your friend will be remembered by Germany as a hero fighting for his country," Johnen said, not knowing how else to comfort the man in his grieving.

"_Oh, Gott...Oh, Gott_!" Klink wailed, and buried his face into his best friend's shoulder as he cried.

Schneider wrapped his arms around Klink and remained silent as his friend grieved. He looked up at the brigadier and nodded.

"_Danke, Herr Brigadegeneral_," Schneider said, soft.

Johnen nodded, looked on at the two with tremendous guilt, then silently disappeared into the night.

Once he had vanished, the lieutenant turned to Klink and patted him on the shoulder as the captain lifted his head and wiped his wet eyes.

"Kurt would want you to be happy tonight about your success, Wilhelm. He wouldn't want you crying over his loss," Schneider said, trying to find the right words. Sadly, there were none in this case. Nothing he could say would bring Hauke back or redo tonight all over again.

"I _can't_ be happy, Rudi...not now," Klink answered, tears still streaming down his face.

"Remember the memories you had with him. The good times with him. The crazy and stupid things you two probably did together in your free time."

He got no answer. Just the captain shuddering and crying a little more.

"I never got to say 'goodbye'...I never got to tell him how much his friendship meant to me." Klink wept.

"He knew, Wilhelm. Don't worry, he knew. He's still here with you, especially tonight. I'm sure he would have been very proud of you and what you did for Germany."

Klink barely nodded, wiped his eyes again, then looked off into the horizon.

"Take me to my quarters, Rudi. I don't feel like celebrating tonight," he said, beginning to grow numb.

"Come on, _mein Freund_. We'll have a drink and talk," Schneider answered, and wrapped an arm around the captain.

As the two officers started walking, they were soon joined by their men, who were laughing and cheering about their successful mission.

"Hey, Captain! You gotta come celebrate with us!" Basse cried.

"Yeah, we got Captain Berkhoff's unit coming to our barracks for a huge party. There's gonna be music, dancing, and a lot of games!" Hausner added, with energy.

"I'm afraid there won't _be_ any party tonight, gentlemen. Tonight's not a night to be celebrating," Klink said, dull.

"What do you _mean_ 'not worth celebrating'?" Engel remarked, stunned.

"We won, Captain. You have any idea what Major Burkhalter is thinking of us right now?" Traeger asked.

"We're heroes, _Herr Hauptmann_," Kaftan said.

"I said there will be no party, Corporal! And that's an order!" Klink snapped, and left with Schneider without another word.

Once both officers were gone, Engel turned to the group and crossed his arms with disgust.

"What's _his_ problem." The sergeant scoffed.

"I don't know. He seemed just fine when we got back from Paris," Boeck said.

"You think something happened that upset him?" Traeger asked, with concern.

"I saw him talking with another officer earlier. Looked like someone from the army. Maybe he received some bad news regarding a relative of his," Basse said, trying to think of a logical answer.

"Poor Captain Klink."

"Well, we better get on to bed. Tomorrow awaits us."

"Oh no, you don't! We're having this party with or without Captain Klink's permission!" Engel remarked, snippy.

"Engel, you heard _Herr Hauptmann_. There is to be no party," Basse answered, firm.

"Just because _he's_ miserable doesn't mean _we_ all have to be! You see how many French pastries we took out today? That's worth celebrating about!"

"And exactly what's your plan if we're caught? You realize Captain Klink has the power to demote all of us back to private?"

"He _won't_. What Captain Klink doesn't know won't hurt him. Now, do all of you wanna go back to the barracks and sit around like a bunch of bums, or do you want to have fun and celebrate a German victory with our friends?"

Basse stared at the superior sergeant with a cold glare, looked back at the five men behind him, then made his eyes back to Engel before letting out a heavy breath of air.

"Fine. But if _Herr Hauptmann_ finds out, it's all on your head," he warned.

"Fine. Now let's get going. I got Beutler waiting for us with the rest of his unit," Engel said, and lead the way back to their barracks.

As the seven men walked away from the airfield, Traeger looked back in the direction Klink and Schneider had gone in. He wanted to tell everyone off and respect his commander's wishes. He wanted to go and make sure the man was alright and if he could do anything for him, but he also wanted to have some fun. Engel was right: tonight was worth celebrating. Germany had brought home an impressive win that would have Berlin talking for days.

The young man tried to listen to his heart, but his brain got the better of him. And with that, Traeger went against Klink's wishes and hurried to the barracks to celebrate with the others. Tonight was Germany's night, and no one could take that away from them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

Klink sat on his sofa completely lost in thought. He was still in slight shock at the news. As much as he tried to tell himself it was not true, his heart knew otherwise. He just could not believe it. Kurt was gone. He had been so young, too. The captain had been hoping to see his one and only friend from the army again someday during or after the war. To catch up with one another and tell each other of the crazy and stupid things they did while still in school. He wanted to see Kurt accomplish his dream of being a professional singer and travel around all of Europe. To get married and see other places like Argentina, Hawaii, China, and New York. He would not have any of that now. His good friend was dead. All he had of him now were the memories he had shared with the warrant officer. Even those, though, did not fill the empty hole that was now in his heart.

As he continued to sit in silence, Schneider came out of the captain's kitchen with two glasses of brandy in his hands. He walked over to Klink and handed one over, making him look up and give a sad, faint smile.

"Thank you," Klink said, dim.

Schneider sat down on the captain's left, took a sip of his drink, then turned to look at his friend with deep empathy.

"There anything I can get for you, Wilhelm? A blanket, a pillow, something to eat?" The lieutenant asked.

Klink shook his head slowly.

"No...the only thing I want is something no one can bring back to me," he answered, looking off in the distance.

Schneider placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and rubbed it gently.

"Kurt wouldn't have wanted you to be sad tonight, Wilhelm. He'd want you to be proud of yourself. For what you've done for Germany and for the Kaiser. Not to be sad for his loss," he said, soft.

Klink again shook his head.

"I can't believe he's gone...I'm never going to see him again," he answered.

"One day, my friend. One day you'll see each other again." Schneider replied, with a hopeful smile.

"He was my rock, Rudi. When we were in those fake trenches and I thought I was going to go mad, Kurt was the one to calm me down and get me back into the right mindset. He was the one that told me everything would be alright and that we would get through things together." The captain paused, starting to feel guilty. There sat with him the man he loved like another brother, and he was rambling on and on about how great Kurt had been. He sighed sadly. "I'm sorry, Rudi. Here's my best friend in the whole world sitting with me, and I keep talking about how great Kurt was."

"Don't apologize for grieving, Wilhelm. I know how much I mean to you. Kurt knew how much he meant to you, too. He _still_ knows."

Klink was silent for a long while before he began to softly weep.

"He's gone...my friend is gone!" He sobbed.

"No, he's not, Wilhelm. He's right here with you. He'll always be right there with you," Schneider answered, bringing his best friend in for a hug. He sat there in silence and let Klink mourn, all the while wishing he could do something to make him feel better. If he had been able to, he would have brought Kurt back to life right there at that very moment. Unfortunately, he did not have that ability. All he could do was be there for Klink during his time of need and help him get through a difficult bump in the road.

With the two men completely lost in their thoughts, neither of them noticed the door to the captain's quarters open. Burkhalter stepped inside, closed the door behind him, then stood there quietly until someone said something. It did not take long for Schneider to feel the presence of someone else in the living area. He and Klink looked up towards the entrance and were surprised to see the major there.

"_Herr Major_," the lieutenant said. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard the news of Warrant Officer Hauke's death. I wanted to give Captain Klink my condolences for his loss." Burkhalter replied.

"_Danke, Herr Major_," Klink said sincerely.

"I will see to it that Warrant Officer Hauke receives the highest of decorations for his bravery and sacrifice to this gracious country. He will be remembered as a hero to Germany for many generations to come."

The captain nodded and wiped his eyes with the sleeves of his uniform.

"He would not have wanted you to be sad over him tonight, Klink. He would want you to celebrate with the others on Germany's remarkable win today," the major said, seeing his subordinate's distress.

"Germany may have won, _Herr Major_, but _I_, however, have lost tonight," Klink answered, grim.

"Perhaps what I have might make you feel more at peace, then."

The captain looked up and raised his eyebrow in suspicion.

"What do you have?" He asked, curious.

"Brigadier Johnen brought it to my office earlier this evening. Said that Warrant Officer Hauke would have wanted you to have it to remember him by," Burkhalter said.

"And what might _that_ be?" Schneider questioned, now growing suspicious himself.

Burkhalter pulled out a black object from behind his back, walked over to Klink, and handed him a pickelhaube helmet. It was Kurt's helmet. The captain instantly recognized the slap of blue paint on the inside that Kurt had put on to distinguish it from everyone else's.

The sight of his dear friend's helmet brought back a flood of memories all at once to him. Their first day meeting one another, the stupid things they did some nights instead of studying, those five months of hell in the fake trenches for training, it felt as if all of it had happened yesterday. It soon had Klink crying again as he clutched the helmet tight in his arms. Although it made his heart ache immensely, it also brought him a sense of closeness to Kurt. It would never replace his friend or his memory, but it gave him comfort and closure.

The lieutenant gave a small smile.

"Now you'll always have Kurt with you," he said.

Klink lifted his eyes to his best friend, smiled back at him, then made his attention back to his commanding officer.

"_Danke, Major Burkhalter_," the captain spoke.

Burkhalter's response was a sympathetic grin and nod.

As Klink continued to hug the helmet, the door to his quarters swung open, and a frantic Hausner came flying in.

"Captain Klink! Come, please hurry! Kaftan's hurt!" The private begged.

"What?" The officer in calling replied, shocked.

"How?" Schneider asked.

"We celebrated that party you told us not to have, and we were having a kanga line, and Kaftan jumped down from his bunk and landed on his foot wrong. We're really, really, really sorry, _Herr Hauptmann_, just please help Kaftan, _please_!" Hausner rambled in fear.

"Lieutenant, come with me," Klink said, getting to his feet and gently placing Kurt's helmet down on the couch.

"_Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann_," Schneider answered.

The two officers sprinted to their men's barracks, Hausner following closely from behind. The private began saying a silent prayer that Kaftan would be alright, and that he and his friends would not catch living hell from Klink and Schneider.

* * *

"AH!" Kaftan screamed, as Sergeant Beutler from Captain Berkhoff's unit examined his left foot.

"Can you stand up?" Boeck asked nervously.

"Do you think I'd be sitting here if I could get up and walk?!" Kaftan snapped back, fighting back from screaming again. His foot hurt like hell. It felt as if a 200 pound weight had just landed down on it and smashed every bone in his foot to pieces.

"Can you try moving your foot, Kaftan?" Rauland asked.

The corporal in questioning barely made a move before yelling and gripping near his ankle.

"I can't, I can't move it. It hurts too much." He whimpered.

"That ankle is _definitely_ broken. At _least_ badly sprained," Beutler said, feeling the severe swelling around Kaftan's ankle.

"And we can all thank Engel for it. Had we never had this party, this would have never happened." Basse snarled, turning to said sergeant with a glare.

"It's not my fault the kid landed on his foot wrong." Engel snapped back, crossing his arms in annoyance.

"I am _definitely_ going back to private after this," Boeck said, rubbing the back of his neck in worry.

"Captain Klink's gonna kill me!" Traeger exclaimed, filled with anxiety.

"He's gonna kill _all_ of us," Basse answered, still glaring at Engel.

The door to the barracks opened, and Klink hurried to his injured corporal's side.

"Are you alright, Corporal Kaftan?" He asked, genuinely concerned.

"I think my ankle's broken, Captain," Kaftan said, meek.

"It'll be alright. We'll get you to the infirmary, and the medic will make it all better."

"Captain Klink, I'm sorry we went behind your back. I should've said something to stop it, but I went along with it anyways. Please don't be mad at us, Sir. We'll never ever do it again."

"Don't worry about it. My main focus right now is to get your foot checked out and treated." Klink turned to his second in command. "Lieutenant Schneider, help me get him up and walk him to the infirmary."

"_Jawohl_, Captain," Schneider said.

The two officers slowly got Kaftan off the ground and standing on his good foot. Klink and Schneider had the corporal wrap his arms around their shoulders and escorted him out of the barracks, leaving the remaining flyers in their utter shock at what had just happened.

"I don't get it. He wasn't mad one bit." Hausner gasped.

"He should have licked us for what we did. So why didn't he?" Boeck asked.

"You guys are lucky," Beutler said.

"We're are?" Hausner replied, surprised.

"Had that been Captain Berkhoff, we would've been yelled at till our ears bled. Kaftan's foot would have been the _last_ thing on his mind regarding it was caused by something he ordered against doing. Your Captain Klink looks like he puts you guys first before anything else. Not many units are lucky to have a commander like that." The sergeant clarified.

Engel looked off in the direction Klink, Kaftan, and Schneider had gone in, and his shocked look turned into one of a gentle smile. It was at that moment that he realized the captain was not as bad as he imagined. He was actually a pretty cool guy.

"Looks like _Hauptmann Klink_ isn't as much of a stick in the mud as I thought," he said.

"He just earned all of _my_ respect." Rauland added.

"Mine as well," Boeck said, with a firm nod.

"He's earned _all_ of our respect. We should all be grateful that we have a commander like _Herr Hauptmann_ and not some hot headed maniac...no offense, Beutler," Basse answered.

"None taken." Beutler replied.

Engel turned to see all but one man was grinning. Traeger was looking down at the ground and looked ashamed of himself.

"Kid, what's wrong with you? Did you not hear us, we all respect Captain Klink now," he said.

"I'm an awful soldier. I don't deserve my second stripe after disobeying _Herr Hauptmann_," the young man answered, filled with guilt.

"Are you out of your mind? Had it not been for you that night in Paris, Captain Klink would have been shot down and killed along with _Herr Leutnant_ and Kaftan. You have every right to be wearing that second stripe and hold the position as _Herr Hauptmann's_ assistant." Basse replied, finding what he was hearing absurd.

"If I had the right to be a corporal, I would have reported this party happening to begin with," Traeger said. He slouched his shoulders, took off his jacket, then put his private one back on. He grabbed his corporal's jacket and turned to the others. "If you excuse me, I'm off to the infirmary."

Before the rest could get a word in, the young corporal stepped out of the barracks and soon vanished into the night.

* * *

Klink and Schneider stood by Kaftan's bedside as the camp medic, Sergeant Dahlke, came out from the other room with a clipboard in his hands. He looked up at the two officers and injured corporal, then let out a heavy breath of air.

"Captain Klink," Dahlke said. "This man's ankle has been severely fractured due to the stressful impact it took when jumping down from his bunk. Corporal Kaftan is to not put any pressure on his foot or do any sort of strenuous activity for at least four weeks."

"Four weeks! I can't be out that long; Captain Klink needs my help with assignments!" Kaftan exclaimed.

"Corporal, you have a serious medical condition. You're lucky that bone did not go any further! It would have tore skin otherwise. I want that foot kept wrapped in its cast and not used in any shape or form for the next four weeks, understand?" Dahlke replied, stern.

The corporal gave a 'humph' and crossed his arms in frustration.

The medic looked at him for a moment longer, then grabbed the crutches leaning against the bed and handed them to Schneider.

"Make sure he is using these to get around at all times and taking ibuprofen for pain every four to six hours," he ordered.

"_Jawohl_, Sergeant Dahlke. _Danke_," the lieutenant said, with a nod.

Dahlke nodded in response, then headed back for the other room, leaving the two officers and their corporal to themselves again.

"Well this is just great. _Herr Hauptmann's_ got one less man now for assignments, and it's all my damn fault. I _knew_ I shouldn't have gone along with Engel's idea," Kaftan said, bashing himself with guilt.

"Don't be hard on yourself, Corporal. It was just an accident. _No one_ could have seen it coming," Schneider answered.

Kaftan looked up at Klink and shook his head, his eyes filled with regret.

"I'm sorry, _Hauptmann Klink_. I know I should've come to you and reported the incident, but we were all just having so much fun and happy about Germany's win. It'll never happen again, Sir, I _swear_ it will never happen again. Honest." He pleaded.

"Forget about it, Corporal Kaftan. I'll let it slide this one time. I'm just glad you'll be okay, and it wasn't anything worse," the captain said with a grin.

The corporal looked at his commander like a deer did at headlights.

"You mean...you're not _mad_?" He gasped.

Klink shook his head.

"No...but if you ever disobey my orders again, you better find the nearest plane and fly far away from here before I catch you." He warned, his eyes glowering at the last part.

"_Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann_. Never again, _versprechen_!" Kaftan replied, with a firm nod. (1)

Klink's eyes softened, and his gentle smile reappeared.

"Good. Now you better get back to your barracks and rest that ankle of yours. I want you back in commission as soon as possible," the captain said.

"Yes, Sir," Kaftan answered.

The corporal slowly lowered himself down from the bed and onto the floor. Klink held him tight by the arms as Schneider adjusted the crutches underneath Kaftan's arms. Once certain he was stable, the two officers backed away and saluted their subordinate 'goodnight'. They received the same in return, and Kaftan began making his way to the door, when he paused and looked back at Klink.

"_Hauptmann Klink_...are you sure you're not angry about the party?" He asked hesitantly.

"What party?" The captain remarked, with a wink.

The corporal smiled wide, and his eyes lit up like the sun.

"Captain Klink, you're a cool guy, Sir," Kaftan said sincerely.

Klink chuckled and blushed a bit.

"_Danke_, Corporal. I appreciate the compliment," he answered.

Kaftan nodded and started making his way outside, when Traeger walked in and saw his fellow comrade.

"You alright, Kaftan?" The young man asked, concerned.

"No, I'm _terrible_. I gotta put up with Engel calling me 'gimpy' for the next four weeks." The older corporal groaned, disgusted at the idea of being on medical leave for so long.

"Would it make you feel better if _I_ called you 'gimpy'?"

Kaftan smirked, patted Traeger on the shoulder, then made his way back to the barracks.

Once his friend was gone, Traeger looked at Klink and Schneider, gave a heavy sigh, then slowly approached the two with his head hanging. He saluted the officers, received the same in return, then slowly handed over his corporal jacket to Klink.

"Captain Klink, I'm ready for my demotion, Sir," the man said sadly.

The captain looked at the jacket with shock and turned his eyes back to Traeger.

"_Demotion_! Corporal Traeger, why do you think I'm demoting you?" He asked.

"I knew about the party that happened tonight, Sir. I know I should have came and told you about the violation as my duty as your assistant...but I blew it off because I wanted to have fun with the others. If I were a corporal, I wouldn't have got sucked into this whole dilemma and would have reported it to you or Lieutenant Schneider the minute I knew about it. I don't deserve my second stripe, and I _don't_ deserve to be your assistant, _Herr Hauptmann_. I'm ready to take my punishment and go back to private." Traeger explained, hanging his head in shame.

"Corporal, it's one thing to make a mistake, but it's another to make a mistake and _admit_ to one's wrongdoing." Klink clarified, handing the jacket back over. "I'm not demoting you back to private, Corporal Traeger. You earned that second stripe fair and square, and I'm not taking that away from you."

The young man looked at Klink with surprise while graciously taking the jacket back in his hands. He was not mad. If anything, he seemed proud that he had come out and admitted to taking part in the captain's violation.

"But, but, but the party, Captain," he was cut off by Klink.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told Corporal Kaftan; I'll let this one incident slide, but the next one you better run far away from here before I get a hold of you."

"And my...my position as your assistant, Sir?"

Traeger got a kind smile in response.

"You better be at my quarters at 0600 hours sharp tomorrow morning. I have lots of work that needs to be done," Klink said.

"Yes, Sir. _Danke_, Sir!" The corporal cheered. On impulse, Traeger wrapped his arms around his commander, taking Klink back by surprise. It did not take long after that for Traeger to realize what he was doing. He almost immediately released Klink and backed away while clearing his throat. "Sorry, _Herr Hauptmann_."

The captain shook his head while grinning, then gently patted the corporal's shoulder.

"Go get some sleep. And that's an order," he said.

"_Jawohl, mein Hauptmann_," Traeger answered with a salute. He got one in return, then hurried out of the infirmary without another word.

Just the two of them again, Klink turned to Schneider, who had his arms crossed and was looking at him with a friendly glare.

"What?" Klink asked, with confusion. He cocked his head slightly to the right.

"Was I right, or was I still right?" The lieutenant remarked.

At first, the captain had no idea what his friend was referring to. It suddenly dawned on him, and it made him laugh: the whole being a good officer thing again.

"It's still very early to tell. By the looks of the war right now, these guys will be under my command for quite awhile yet," he answered.

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Wilhelm. Give yourself a pat on the back once and awhile," Schneider said.

Klink sighed with reluctance and gave himself two short pats on his shoulder to satisfy his friend. It backfired on him almost instantaneously, though.

"Alright, _that_ did it. Come on, we're getting you a drink." Schneider replied, grabbing Klink by the arm.

"Rudi, I really should be getting back to my quarters and headed for beeeeeeeeeeed!"

"You can go to sleep after having one drink. Now, come on. I think that officer's party is still going on."

With that, the captain gave a tired smile, gave into his friend's demand, and the two officers headed off for the recreational hall.

* * *

(1) _V__ersprechen_ \- Promise


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

(_Present Day: Stalag 13_)

Finishing Klink's journal entry, Hogan and Newkirk sat there in utter silence, and Kalina wiped her wet eyes. They had no idea that the infamous helmet sitting on the kommandant's desk was not even the kommandant's. It was a memory he had kept with him for years in order to remember his dear and only friend from the army and keep him at close distance. After all the times messing with it, playing with it, and dumping pipe residue into the inside of it, both Allied soldiers felt a touch of guilt for their actions. It was one thing to mess with Klink's stuff, but it was another to mess with someone's stuff that the two men never even got to meet.

"I never knew that helmet of Klink's belonged to someone else," Newkirk said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Neither did I," Hogan answered, then lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Sorry, Kurt old pal. Didn't know that old helmet was yours."

"That must be an awful thing to go through...hearing that someone you love so much was killed in combat," Kalina said, shaking her head in sadness.

"Poor Klink. I remember when my good friend back home was told that his older brother had been killed in an air raid...was never the same afterwards." Newkirk replied.

"_No one_ is when they lose someone like that. It's a very traumatic experience for one to go through. I'm fortunate to say I've never been in that situation," the American said.

"What happened to Papa after that night? Did he move on from Kurt's loss?" Klink's daughter asked, curious.

"Um…" Hogan answered, flipping through a few entries. None of them held anything interesting other than more assignments from Berlin or planned by Klink himself. He finally stopped flipping through the pages and read the entry he had fallen upon. "Looks like he was able to get through it. Says here that several weeks had gone by and although that he still felt a touch of sadness once and awhile when thinking of Kurt, he was doing a lot better and kept Kurt's optimism and strength with him when days got rough."

Kalina gave a soft smile.

"I bet Kurt is Papa's guardian angel," she said, getting a strong feeling she was right.

The Englishman smirked.

"I don't doubt it for one second, little mate. I'm sure that Kurt fella's looking down at your ol' man still today and looking out for him," he answered.

"Whoa! A mad Frenchman came into Klink's base on a mass shooting spree?" Hogan gasped.

"WHAT?!" Both Newkirk and Kalina cried.

"What bleedin' Frenchman?" The corporal added.

"It's written by Kalina's Uncle Rudi, too." The colonel continued.

"Why is it written by Uncle Rudi? What happened to my Papa?!" The teenage girl wailed, as if it was happening in the present day.

"Go on, Gov'nor. I wanna know what the hell this bloody bloke did," Newkirk urged.

"Alright. But brace yourselves if this gets gory," Hogan warned, then cleared his throat and resumed reading. "August 18, 1916: Dear Wilhelm's journal, I write this as I sit in my quarters and painstakingly remember tonight's earlier events."

* * *

(_August 18, 1916: Stuttgart, Germany_)

It was just another summer night at Kändler Air Base. The weather was cool, and the humidity was significantly low. Flyers were outside playing night games or sitting around campfires making smores, and officers were wandering around visiting with their colleagues or doing paperwork under the starry night sky.

While Traeger assisted Schneider with patrol duty, Engel, Boeck, Basse, Rauland, and Hausner played a game of soccer with Kaftan watching from a table. Though the corporal had yet to recover from his fracture, Kaftan's ankle was healing exceptionally. So well that he had been able to have the cast and crutches removed and replaced with a boot for the remainder of his recovery. It was rather annoying to lug around and limp in, but it was better than moving around on crutches.

As the Germans continued to mind their own business and relax, the peace and serenity was abruptly ended by the sound of shouting and a gun firing shots. Everyone turned their eyes in the direction the disturbance was coming from and saw that it was a French flyer, a captain, running around and shooting at all the officers he laid eyes on. His eyes held angry flames of fire within them, was shouting something in French repeatedly, and appeared to be in some sort of psychotic state of mind.

"_Meurtriers! Meurtriers! Vous les Allemands êtes des tueurs! Vous tous! Meurtriers! Meurtriers_!" The mad captain bellowed. He continued firing his gun, hitting several German officers. Each of them cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground. Some died instantly, some were dying quickly, and others sustained injuries such as shoulder and leg wounds. (1)

"_Jeder, zurück zu Ihrer Kaserne! Schnell, schnell, schnell_!" An officer, a colonel, hollered over the gunfire. (2)

Flyers and young officers began to scramble for safety in a screaming panic. Some went for their barracks, and some went for the recreational hall and other nearby buildings.

Klink's men immediately forgot about their soccer game and sprinted to the recreational hall for safety. Engel roughly picked Kaftan up from his spot and zoomed in with the others for shelter. Once all of them were inside, Klink's men and the other flyers closed the door, shoved a desk in front of it, and watched frantically from the windows at what was going on.

"Help! Help! I need a doctor! Help, he's bleeding a lot!" A lieutenant wailed.

"Come on, Colonel, wake up! Wake up, Colonel, wake up! _Please_, Colonel, open your eyes!" A sobbing private cried, shaking his unconscious commanding officer.

"Someone get this damn bullet out of my leg!" A major begged, holding onto his left leg in agony.

Several officers tried to shoot the French captain down, but either they missed by inches or were not quick enough and got shot themselves. The enemy flyer continued to fire at random officers, sirens began to blare, and the Germans continued to scream and run around in fear for safety.

"_Rufen Sie in der Feldgendarmerie! Jetzt, jetzt, jetzt_!" Another major yelled. (3)

Not far from the commotion, Schneider and Traeger ran side by side to find shelter. While the lieutenant tried to remain calm, the poor corporal was filled to the brim with anxiety.

"What's going on, _Herr Leutnant_? Where is everybody?" Traeger asked.

"It'll be alright, Corporal. We have to find cover and let the _Feldgendarmerie_ take care of the rest," Schneider said.

"Where's _Herr Hauptmann_?!"

"He'll be alright. _Herr Hauptmann_ is a very smart man, he'll find shelter. We must hurry, though!"

Traeger nodded, and the two started sprinting for the recreational hall. They were halfway there, when the French captain spotted them. He glowered his eyes at them and lifted his gun up in their direction.

The corporal grabbed onto Schneider's arm in fear, and the lieutenant himself stood there like a deer in headlights. Neither one of them knew what to do. If they tried to make a run for it, they would be shot. If they tried to reach for their guns, they would be shot. Both Germans were trapped.

As Traeger and Schneider prepared for their deaths, Klink ran into the area to see what was going on, and his eyes gaped in horror. He saw the many bodies of his comrades lying on the ground, the French flyer, then two of his men being held at gunpoint.

The enemy flyer loaded his gun, cocked it, and prepared to fire at his next victims.

Klink began to think quickly on his feet. He could not let Schneider and Traeger die. The corporal was so young and had so much life left to live. The two had begun to develop a father and son like relationship and had vowed to protect him even if it meant losing his own life in the process. And Schneider. His best friend and second in command. The man he loved like a brother and spent his entire childhood with. After everything the lieutenant had done and been there for him, he could not imagine losing him. He was just starting to recover from losing Kurt, and he would not lose another friend. If he could not have saved Kurt, he was certainly going to save Schneider and Traeger.

Without looking back on his plan, the captain jumped in front of the lieutenant and corporal just as the French captain had fired his gun. Both Schneider and Traeger were spared, but Klink took a bullet straight to his upper abdomen. He gasped, wrapped his right arm around his belly, and collapsed to the ground unconscious.

"NO!" Traeger wailed, running to his commanding officer's side.

Schneider quickly snapped out his gun while he had the opportunity, cocked it, and fired as soon as he had his target. He hit the Frenchman right in between the eyes and watched him fall to the ground in a heap.

As the sirens continued to blare throughout the base, the lieutenant put away his gun, got down onto the ground beside Traeger, and tried gently shaking Klink awake.

"Wilhelm! Wilhelm! Wilhelm, can you hear me?!" Schneider asked, fighting back from panicking.

"He's not breathing, _Herr Leutnant_!" The young corporal cried.

"Help! Help! We need a doctor! He's not breathing, help!"

"Come on, Captain, come on. Wake up, please wake up, Captain!"

Klink did not respond. He lay there motionless and grew more pale by the second.

"Help! _Somebody_, help! I need a doctor!" Schneider pleaded, shouting over the sirens. He looked back at his dear friend and again tried to shake him back into consciousness. "Come on, Wilhelm, breathe! Breathe, Wilhelm, breathe!"

_Feldgendarmerie_ troops came bolting into base with snarling German Shepherds and began shouting different commands at everyone still outside. Some mended to those who were wounded and murdered, and others took to the deceased Frenchman and ordered for an investigation to start at once.

Two _Feldgendarmerie_ officers made their way to Schneider and Traeger, knelt down beside the unconscious captain, and one began to do CPR while the other went and called for an ambulance.

Seeing their commander down, Klink's men hurried out of the recreational hall and tried getting to him, but were stopped by a _Fliegertruppe_ colonel shoving them away from the area. All six flyers started yelling and begging to go to Klink and help, but the colonel would not budge and continued to order them all back into the building for safety until an 'all clear' was given.

"Captain!" Engel hollered.

"Captain Klink, wake up, Sir!" Kaftan pleated.

"Somebody get him to wake up!" Hausner wailed.

As the _Feldgendarmerie_ officer continued to perform CPR, Burkhalter ran from his office to the area and looked in horror at the sight before him.

"Come on, Wilhelm! _Breathe_, please breathe, Wilhelm!" Schneider begged, tears streaming down his face.

Traeger bit his thumb, closed his eyes, and silently prayed that Klink would be alright.

"His heart rate's dropping, _Herr Major_," the _Feldgendarmerie_ officer reported.

"You'll keep doing CPR until the ambulance gets here, and that's an order!" Burkhalter snapped.

"Please, God, don't take him from me. Please don't take Wilhelm from me, _please_, God! Please!" The lieutenant wept.

As the _Feldgendarmerie_ officer kept performing CPR, Klink continued to slip further and further into unconsciousness. Soon he heard nothing, and soon he saw nothing but blackness.

* * *

(1) _Meurtriers! Meurtriers! Vous les Allemands êtes des tueurs! Vous tous! Meurtriers! Meurtriers_ \- Murderers! Murderers! You Germans are killers! You all! Murderers! murderers.

(2) _Jeder, zurück zu Ihrer Kaserne! Schnell, schnell, schnell_ \- Everyone, back to your barracks! Fast fast fast.

(3) _Rufen Sie in der Feldgendarmerie! Jetzt, jetzt, jetzt_ \- Call in the Feldgendarmerie (German Empire military police)! Now, now, now!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

Klink was transferred to Stuttgart Red Cross Hospital and immediately brought in for emergency surgery under his physician, Dr. Richard Klaussner. (1)

Schneider and Burkhalter followed the ambulance to the hospital and waited in the operating waiting room for news on the captain's condition. While the major paced back and forth with his arms clasped behind his back, Schneider shook his leg anxiously, stood up and walked around for a bit, then sat back down and did the same routine all over again.

It had been five hours since Klink was brought in for surgery, and Burkhalter was beginning to grow irritated with the lack of information they were getting. No one seemed to have any idea on how surgery was going, why it was taking so long, or how the captain was doing.

"It's been five hours now. What's taking them so long?" The major demanded.

His anxiety getting the better of him again, the lieutenant got to his feet and started walking around aimlessly. The longer they waited, the more afraid he grew. Surgery that went on for longer than an hour meant it was severe in his mind. It had already been bad when Klink had to be brought in with an oxygen tent, but the hours passing by and not hearing a word from anybody made it almost unbearable. He could not lose his best friend. He just could not. If Schneider lost Klink, it would literally kill him. He just would not be able to live through it. The man had been there for him in the good times and bad. When his father died in gymnasium, he had been there. When he had needed someone to tutor him in math to pass an important exam, he had been there. If he was going somewhere for a vacation with a friend, that friend was almost always Klink. There were many more memories and moments in his life that he had been there for him, and he could never repay him for them. There were many more to come after the war, and he wanted Klink there for all of it. A life without Wilhelm Klink was like trying to live without oxygen. If he lost his best friend, he would never forgive himself.

"_Herr Major_...you think that Wilhelm will...do you think he'll…" Schneider could not finish his question without choking up. It made him want to die just _thinking_ about that possibility.

"I don't know, Lieutenant. It is hard to say at the moment," Burkhalter said, grim. The idea of losing Klink did not sound ideal to him either. He was a good commanding officer, a good person, and one of his best pilots in the entire _Fliegertruppe_. Losing him would be a horrific loss to Germany and to those close to him, he himself one of them.

Schneider closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for his friend. That his doctor would come out of the operating room with good news and that Klink would get better and come home soon.

The two officers stood in complete silence, getting lost in their thoughts, when Klaussner came out through the operating room doors and into the waiting room. The young doctor had wavy, light brown hair and gentle blue eyes to match. He stood quietly and waited to be acknowledged by the others. He did not have long to wait, as Schneider and Burkhalter felt the sudden aura of someone's presence with them. They turned to Klaussner, and the lieutenant dashed to the doctor, grabbing him by the shoulders with frantic.

"How is he? Where is he? Where's Wilhelm, where is he?!" Schneider cried.

"Lieutenant!" Burkhalter barked. "Control yourself. You're behaving more like a corporal than a lieutenant."

Schneider looked back at the major quickly, then back to Klaussner.

"_Please_...I'm begging you, where is he, Doctor? Where's Wilhelm?" He asked, with a tremor in his voice.

Klaussner fell dead silent for several moments before finally speaking. His facial expression was neutral, but his eyes looked dim and filled with empathy.

"Captain Klink suffered a severe gunshot wound to his diaphragm. It caused a serious amount of external and internal bleeding and needed just a little over twelve units of blood throughout the operation. He just about crashed on us at one point because of how much blood he lost."

"Will he be alright, Dr. Klaussner?" Burkhalter questioned, both curious and apprehensive inside.

The doctor again grew quiet and did not know how to break the news to them. He gave a heaving sigh, then sadly lifted his eyes to both officers.

"Klink has gone into a coma. Due to severe blood loss and lack of breathing, his body just completely shut down as a way to try and recover from the injuries it has suffered from," he said, grave.

"When will he wake up?" Schneider asked, swallowing a large knot in his throat.

Klaussner did not answer. He looked at the lieutenant and worried how he would react to what he had to report next. He finally shook his head softly.

"I don't know," he said.

"What do you mean you don't know!" Schneider snapped.

"I don't know when he will wake up...I don't know _if_ he'll wake up."

Schneider's eyes widened in horror, the color from his skin draining almost instantaneously. He shook his head while his body racked with shivers.

"No...no...no, tell me you're wrong. _Please_ tell me you're wrong!" He begged.

The doctor looked at him with deep empathy.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I'm afraid Wilhelm may never regain consciousness again," he said.

The military officer collapsed into a chair, buried his face into his hands, and tried with all his might to not cry. He was an air force lieutenant. Air force lieutenants did not cry. They _couldn't_ cry. He had to remain strong for Klink's men. For his country...but how did he stay strong for others when he could hardly do so for himself.

Schneider let out a heavy, shaky breath and once he felt he had collected himself as much as possible, he looked up at Klaussner and swallowed a large lump in his throat.

"Can I see him?" He asked, dim.

Klaussner gave a slight nod.

"Follow me. I'll show you to his room," he said.

Schneider hesitantly got to his feet and followed the older man down a few halls to a private room near a nurse's station. Klaussner opened the door and gestured for the lieutenant to enter.

"I'll come and check on you in a few minutes," the doctor said.

"_Danke, Herr Doktor_," Schneider said, his voice filled with sadness.

Klaussner nodded, looked at the man a little longer with an empathetic look, then silently closed the door behind him.

For the first few minutes, Schneider did not have enough strength to turn to his left. He was horrified to know what the sight before him would be. What if his best friend was hooked up to a bunch of tubes, wires, and machines? What color did his skin have? Did it just look like he was sleeping, or would he resemble a dead body? He finally took in a breath of air to calm his apprehensive nerves, then slowly looked to the bed on his left. What he saw made him want to collapse to the ground and sob mercifully.

Klink had an IV in his right hand, a hospital bracelet on his left, wore a white hospital gown with tiny navy blue diamonds for a design, and had a blood transfusion going into his right arm. There was a tube coming from underneath the sheets that was connected to his swollen middle. It was there to drain any bacterial and viral infections that could affect his injured diaphragm from surgery. He had his right hand resting on his belly, his eyelids were near the color of black, his skin was paler than his bed sheets, and his breathing was extremely low and shallow. Had one not been watching carefully, they could have easily mistaken Klink for a corpse.

"Oh, Wilhelm," Schneider whimpered. He made his way to the captain's bedside for a closer look and began to choke up. "Wilhelm...you're all pale." The lieutenant gently sat down beside Klink's legs and just let tears stream down his face. He had never seen his friend so ill, and it made his stomach lurch knowing there was nothing he could do to make him better or wake up again. He began to worry if this was how the rest of his life would be; not having Klink at his side through thick and thin. To never hear his laugh again. To never see his smile or kind blue eyes again. To never make any more memories with him again. A life without his best friend made everything to Schneider look black and white in the world. There was no color. No light. No smiling.

Schneider took a hold of the captain's left hand and held it firmly in his. He squeezed it tight to let Klink know he was there with him and would make sure he was well taken care of.

"I need you to open your eyes again, Wilhelm...I can't live my life without you in it. You're my best friend...I _need_ you, _mein Freund_. Please open your eyes again, Wilhelm...I wanna hear your voice again." He quivered, through his tears.

Klink did not respond. He continued to lie in a deep, unwakeable sleep.

The lieutenant hung his head, trying to keep himself from breaking down, but it was proving to be mere impossible. His heart felt like someone had just shot it a hundred times and, had it not been enough, threw it on the ground and trampled on it. Giving up on his futile battle, Schneider broke down and began to cry.

"Don't take him from me..._please_, God. Don't take him from me...take my lieutenant rank, take my plane or my quarters, but don't take Wilhelm from me!" He sobbed. Schneider buried his face into his hands and continued crying, when the sound of a door opening and a person walking in caused him to look up. It was Klaussner with a grave look.

"I'm afraid you'll have to leave now, Lieutenant. Captain Klink needs his rest to get better," he said.

"I can't leave him, _Herr Doktor_...if something happens to Wilhelm, I'll _never_ forgive myself."

"This isn't your fault, Lieutenant. What happened tonight was a horrific, awful, tragic event that was out of anyone's control. _Surely_ you couldn't have been expecting a mad Frenchman to barge into your air base and start firing his gun at every German officer he lay sight on."

Schneider shook his head, immense guilt weighing on him like a 200 pound weight.

"Why didn't I jump in front of that gun?...It should be _me_ lying in this hospital bed, not Wilhelm," he said, meek.

"I don't think that's what he wanted to happen. He jumped in front of that gun to save both you and his young corporal. He didn't want to see either one of you die, so he risked himself dying instead...your friend there's a real hero. Only someone with true selflessness and love would have had the guts to do what Klink did for you two tonight. He loved you two too much to stand there and watch you both be killed."

"Now _he_ might die, though...I can't lose him, Doc...I can't lose him, Dr. Klaussner," Schneider answered, starting to break down again.

"I will do everything I can for Wilhelm, Lieutenant. He needs you to be strong for him and those seven flyers now, though. Sitting here and not getting any sleep isn't going to help anybody. You're the one in charge now, Schneider. Make Wilhelm proud."

The military officer gave a shaky sigh, then turned to Klink and again grabbed hold of his hand. His look of grief turned into one of determination and promise.

"You just focus on getting better and coming back to us, my friend. I swear on my oath as an officer that I'll get my revenge on those murderers if it's the last damn thing I do...I'll be back to see you soon, Wilhelm...you are and always will be _mein bester Freund_," he said, choking up on the last part.

Schneider said his tearful goodbye to Klink, nodded to Klaussner 'goodnight', and sulked out of the hospital and into the dreary night. He was the new commander of the 410th Bombing Group, and he now had to fight this war alone. His best friend was gone.

* * *

(_Present Day: Stalag 13_)

"Poor guy. If I were to lose you, Gov'nor...blimey, I'm not sure what I would do," Newkirk said sincerely.

Hogan gave a kind smile.

"Don't worry, Newkirk. I plan on making you boys miserable for quite a long while yet." He teased.

"Charming," the Englishman answered, with a playful roll of his eyes.

"Poor Papa," Kalina said softly. "He never liked to talk about the war. Everyone else _bragged_ about their service for the Empire and how they were just the greatest officer that ever lived...but Papa always jokingly changed the subject."

Hogan nodded.

"I guess there's a lot more to your pop than meets the eye." He replied.

Kalina opened her mouth to reply, but Newkirk spoke before she could get a word out.

"Well, come on now. Keep reading! I wanna know if Old Iron Eagle lives or not!"

The teenager slouched, cocked her head to the left, and gave the corporal a glare.

"Hellooooo, I exist?" She remarked.

"Sorry, little mate. I know he lives, but I just can't help feeling the suspense," Newkirk said.

Kalina smiled and let out a heavy sigh while shaking her head.

"Well? Shall we go on?" The colonel asked, turning to both of them.

"Go for it," Klink's daughter said.

"Alright...wow. Looks like your Uncle Rudi didn't write anything for a long while after your father got shot and went into his coma. Next journal entry is dated December 7th through 8th, 1916."

"What happened?" Newkirk asked, with curiosity.

"We're about to find out," Hogan answered, turned his eyes back to the journal, and resumed reading. "Dear Wilhelm's journal, It's been over three and a half months since Wilhelm got hurt and went into a coma. Things have been rather boring here lately, and frankly, I don't have the motivation to do anything fun or outgoing to make it less so."

* * *

(1) Dr. Richard Klaussner is a doctor and later underground agent in WWII that I created. He first appeared in my story "Hogan's Heroes: Finding the Silver Lining". If you wish to use him in a story, please message me first for my permission.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

(_December 7-8, 1916: Stuttgart, Germany_)

Klink had been in a coma for over three months now. Klaussner was beginning to lose faith in him ever waking up again, and Schneider had physically shown just how much his best friend's loss had been on him. The newly promoted captain did his daily routines and military duties without a problem, but everything else was very minimal. Every day he returned to his quarters the minute he was finished with work, ate dinner, then either lounged on his sofa or went to bed and repeated the same thing over again the following morning. On weekends, he either barricaded himself in his quarters or went to the hospital to visit Klink. He had basically become a walking zombie that only did his work and the essentials needed to live.

As for Klink's men and the other personnel in camp, they were slowly getting back to regular routine and recovering from the loss of the captain and the many officers that had been killed. The flyers struggled to move on with their new commanding officers, but made do. They grieved for the commanders that they had lost, though wished to honor them by fighting harder than they had ever before. Because of this, the air raids on France became increasingly more intense, and the German Air Force was starting to become a feared military group to the Allies.

It was another Saturday night, and Schneider had done nothing but lie on his sofa all day listening to his records and contemplate life. Why did certain things happen and others did not? How was it decided on what happened and what didn't? He stared mindlessly at walls, the ceiling, or objects in the room as he lay in a deep depression he thought would never lose his grip on him. Klink had been the one that had always made him feel better. By either giving him advice or using his dry sense of humor to make him laugh, it had been him to always bring the captain out of a funk and back to seeing the light of a situation. Ever since Klink had been admitted to the hospital, Schneider no longer had him to go to. Sometimes it made him not want to get out of bed, sometimes it made him just wish to die and not deal with life anymore. As much as the other officers tried, there seemed to be nothing to cheer the new captain up. His depression had him like chains did to a prisoner, and people were beginning to wonder if Schneider would ever get better again.

As the captain continued to lie there lost in thought, he failed to notice the door to his quarters open and his friend, Lieutenant Wolfgang Geiger, enter inside. The man had wavy light brown hair and bright green eyes full of energy and mischief. He was a little shorter than Schneider and had a love for three things and three things only: drinking, gambling, and pretty women. Klink had despised the officer. He did not approve of his carefree, unreliable, immature behavior or his constant drinking. He did not take many things seriously and even dismissed the idea of a promotion in order to remain the way he was.

Geiger walked into the main area, closed the door behind him, and spotted the man he was looking for in the same spot he had pretty much become a resident of. Seeing his friend, he gave a bright smile.

"Ehy, Rudi! What are you doing like that on the sofa for?" The lieutenant asked.

"Examining philosophy," Schneider said, slightly monotone.

"Well that sounds _utterly_ boring. Hey, there's this awesome officers' party going on tonight in the recreational hall! Why don't you come with me, and we'll have a little fun."

"I'd rather just lie here, _danke_."

"Come on, Rudi. You've been like this for three months. _Live_ a little."

The captain finally sat up and looked at his friend with solemn, grim eyes.

"My best friend is in a coma. The doctors don't think he'll ever wake up again. It's very difficult to move on with life when that's weighing on your shoulders," he said, his grief heard in his voice.

"I don't think Captain Klink would want you to sit here in depression, watching your life rot away into nothing. What would he say to you if he were here?" Geiger asked, his hopes in persuading the man still high.

Schneider gave a heaving sigh before answering.

"He'd tell me to quit being sad over him, to get off my lazy rear end, and go find something to do."

"Exactly. Besides, it's Colonel Burkhalter's orders." Geiger replied, crossing his arms.

"Colonel Burkhalter! Why does _he_ care with what the hell I do with myself?"

"He says you're starting to be a negative energy to the other officers and flyers and causing them to be less productive. He's coming here in an hour to see if you're still here. If you come back to this quarters before 11PM tonight, he's making you give a motivational speech to incoming _Luftstreitkräfte_ officers." (1)

Schneider fell back onto the couch, put his officer's cap over his face, and groaned with immense dissatisfaction. The last thing he felt like doing was getting up and going to a wild officer's party. He was still grieving over Klink. Was it even _legal_ to force a grieving man into going out and enjoy himself? He eventually sat back up, straightened his cap on his head, and gave a sigh of surrender.

"Fine. I'll have _one_ beer. Walk around for a little while, then come back here and go to bed," he said, resentful. He knew it was not respectful thinking, but Schneider really felt like whacking Burkhalter over the head with his pistol at that moment.

"_Wunderbar_!" Geiger cheered. "Come on, now. I just saw four blondes walk in and boy, were they sure smoking!"

The lieutenant hurried out of the private quarters with a more than unamused captain following from behind.

The two officers entered inside the recreational hall and were immediately greeted with dancing, live music, a bar, and many other officers with beautiful women. While Geiger felt like he had died and gone to Heaven, Schneider stood there with a deadpan expression to his face.

"I'm going to the bar," Schneider said, dim.

As he began to make his way over to his destination, three other officers that were friends with him and Geiger approached. They were all having the time of their lives, laughing at each other's stupid stories, and completely forgetting about the war.

"Hey, Rudi!" The highest ranking one, Colonel Müsser, called out. "'Bout time you came out and rejoined society!"

"How great is this party? I'm gonna be dancing all night long," the second one, Captain Neumann, said.

"Wolf, wait until you see the girl I laid eyes on! Ho ho, is she a babe!" The last one, Captain Berkhoff, cried.

"As much as I would _love_ to continue this discussion, I'm just here for one drink and then going back to my quarters at 11," Schneider said, not sounding the least bit interested in what the others had to say.

"Oh, come on, Rudi! You gotta dance with us," Berkhoff answered. He appeared a little drunk by how enthusiastic he was.

"I do not feel like dancing, _Herr Hauptmann_."

"They're playing '_Das Volk steht auf_' next, you have to sing along with the others," Müsser urged.

"_**Nein**, danke_."

"Aw, come on, Rudi! Stay and hang for a while. Have a little fun." The four officers begged the new captain.

Schneider let out a heavy breath of air through his nose. He could already tell he was not going to win this battle and finally just decided to give in and please the others.

"Fine. I want my beer first, though," he answered, firm.

The four men cheered with glee and walked with the new captain to the bar. Schneider sat down in a chair, and the other officers surrounded him.

"_Ein Bier bitte_," Schneider said, to the bartender.

"Make it a large one." Geiger added.

"You're not helping." The captain remarked, turning to the man.

The bartender quickly returned with a large glass of beer and placed it in front of Schneider before heading off to serve other officers.

The minute '_Das Volk steht auf_' started playing, Geiger, Berkhoff, Neumann, and Müsser began to sing loud and proud, though their voices sounded terrible and out of tune.

Schneider looked at his friends, shook his head while rolling his eyes, then took a gulp of his beer before coughing. It was the strongest beer he had ever had in his entire life. Although it tasted delicious, the burning sensation he got inside his mouth made it almost unappealing.

"Wow! This is very strong beer." He commented, looking at how much he had left to drink. He took another drink, slowly getting used to the strong taste, then turned his eyes back to his friends. They were dancing around like nimrods while chugging beer and brandy down like water. It was clear that all of them were drunk..._very_ drunk. Just watching them made Schneider feel intoxicated. Though it was not a psychological illusion; Schneider _himself_ was beginning to feel the effects of his beer. He began to feel carefree, optimistic, and the grief of Klink's ailment almost immediately washed away. At first it felt weird feeling those emotions again, but slowly grew to like it.

The captain took a few more heavy gulps of his beer, got off from his chair, and began to join them in a terrible choir. The five officers began to dance around in a circle, doing a very poor job at performing the polka. They laughed like idiots and cheered once and awhile.

"Isn't this better than lying on your sofa in your quarters?" Geiger cried.

"Where's that?" Schneider remarked, with a goofy grin. The response was all of them cracking up.

As the officers and ladies visiting continued to enjoy their night, a young man with blue eyes, blonde hair, and wearing glasses entered the building. He wore a suit and tie with a medical band wrapped around his shoulder. He tapped on an officer's shoulder standing nearby and asked for the whereabouts of Schneider. The officer pointed over to the five officers' location, got a nod as thanks from the man, then made his way over to the drunk captain he was looking for.

"Captain Schneider?" He asked.

"Hey! That's me!" Schneider replied. "What's going on with you, my good friend?"

"I am Dr. Markus Bendemann from Stuttgart Red Cross Hospital. Your friend, _Hauptmann Wilhelm Klink's_ condition has changed," the medic said, making sure the man heard him over the music.

As if the words had been some type of witchcraft, Schneider's intoxication melted like ice in the fire and stared at the man in horror.

"His what?" He gasped.

"Captain Klink's condition has changed, _Herr Hauptmann_." Bendemann repeated himself.

"Good? Bad? Is he alright? Where is he?!"

"I will have Dr. Klaussner explain more when we get to the hospital."

Schneider practically lunged himself from his friends to the bar. He pulled whatever kind of money he had on him onto the bar counter, placed his cap on sideways, then quickly staggered out of the recreational hall with Bendemann following closely from behind.

* * *

Once arriving to the hospital, Schneider rushed inside the main lobby and began frantically searching for Dr. Klaussner and Klink.

"Where is he? _How_ is he? Where's Wilhelm?!" He exclaimed, his pupils dilated in size and grabbing onto a nearby medic's uniform.

The medic shook his head in terrified surprise, not knowing how to respond to the man.

"Captain!" A familiar voice commanded.

Schneider turned in the direction the voice was coming from and saw the man he was dying to see standing there. He gently let go of the medic's shirt he was currently gripping, then jolted for Klaussner and grabbed him by the arms.

"Where is he? _Herr Doktor_, where's Wilhelm? Tell me where Wilhelm is!" He pleaded, tears streaming down his face.

"Have you been drinking?" The doctor remarked, completely taken aback at the sight. The captain was known to be more composed and having a much more professional demeanor than the one he was currently seeing. The very strong scent of beer emanating off the man was a clear given on how drunk Schneider was.

"Forget me, where's Wilhelm? Tell me where he is, _please_ tell me where _mein Wilhelm_ is!" The intoxicated officer sobbed.

"_Herr Hauptmann Klink_ has come out of his coma. He's been awake for a couple hours now and been wishing to see you and Colonel Burkhalter. That's why I sent Dr. Bendemann after you to bring you here," Klaussner said calmly. "He's going to be okay, Captain. He'll make a full recovery."

The fear in Schneider's eyes slowly turned into glee, like his frown did into a grin.

"He's awake?...Wilhelm's gonna be alright?!" He cried.

"_Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann_. I will take you to him if you're up for a visit."

Schneider cheered and jumped for joy, nearly slipping onto his back. Thankfully for him, Klaussner caught him by the arms, got him to stand back up, then hushed him.

"You must be quiet, Captain! There are lots of sick people resting here," the medic warned.

"Oh, you can count on me, _Herr Doktor_! I'll be the most quiet person you ever saw!" The captain replied loudly.

"Then lower your voice and follow me."

Schneider nodded, then began to skip and sing '_Muss I Denn_' completely off key.

The two men soon reached Klink's room, and Klaussner opened the door and emerged inside. He saw his patient and greeted him with a friendly smile.

"_Hauptmann Klink_, you have a visitor here to see you," he said, and gestured for Schneider to come in.

The lower ranking captain made his way into the opening, turned to his left, and grinned wider.

"Wilhelm, my boy! You're awake!" He cheered, spreading his arms out.

Klink, who lay in bed with his IV'd hand on his swollen belly, raised his eyebrow suspiciously at his friend's appearance. It soon dawned on him when he smelled the familiar scent of beer. He glowered his eyes at his best friend and frowned with strong distaste.

"Rudolf Schneider, you were drinking, weren't you!" He scolded.

"Nah, I'm fine. I should know. No one knows me better than, than, than...than...what's my ranking again? Colonel!...Or was it corporal? No, I think it was private...or is it sergeant?...That's it! That's what it is, Sergeant Rudolf Schneider...wait a minute, am I even _in_ the military?" The drunk captain replied.

"Lieutenant Geiger got you like this, didn't he. I never liked that man the minute I laid eyes on him! Had you'd not gone out with him, you wouldn't be standing here like a drunken fool and…Ohhhhh!" Klink's rant was interrupted by a sharp pain striking him in his abdomen. He held his belly tight, closed his eyes, and started giving short, rapid breaths of air.

Seeing the man in distress, Klaussner hurried to Klink's side and put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, Captain, easy. You must rest right now," the medic coaxed.

When his patient continued to give uneasy breaths, Klaussner took out a syringe from his jacket, flicked the needle a few times, then injected it into Klink's IV. The captain was soon peacefully sleeping and breathing normally again.

As this went on, Schneider began to sing awfully '_Wir wollen unseren alten Kaiser Wilhelm wiederhaben_' in the key of D major. When he got to his big finale, he flung his arms out and fell back onto what he thought would be Klink's bed. He was sadly mistaken and landed on the ground, falling asleep within seconds.

The doctor's eyes widened in horror and rushed over to make sure Schneider was alright. Seeing he was just sleeping, Klaussner shook his head and looked at the man with empathy.

"Oh, that poor man," he said, with pity.

He helped the sleeping captain to his feet and dragged him to the sofa sitting next to the window. He lay Schneider down, covered him up with a warm blanket, and placed a pillow behind his head. Once sure that he was settled in and that Klink was resting easily, Klaussner made his way to the door and quietly closed it behind him.

* * *

Schneider woke up around 8:00AM the next morning to a God awful migraine. It felt like someone had just taken a knife to his skull and stabbed his brain repeatedly to the point of no return. He groaned in misery, then slowly sat up on the sofa and tried to shake the fuzziness from his brain.

"_Mein **Gott**_, my head," he said, rubbing the back of his skull. "What on earth hap…" Slowly becoming aware of his surroundings, the captain looked at what was on his left and what was in front of him with both confusion and irritation. "Wait a minute...this isn't my quarters...alright, Wolf, what kind of joke do you think this is?"

"One where you get severely drunk, go against your best friend's wishes, and hang out with some hoodlum," a familiar voice answered, from the right.

Schneider's eyes nearly fell out of his head, not able to believe what he was hearing..._who_ he was hearing. It can't be. It _couldn't_ be. Was it who he hoped it was? At first, he thought he had gone crazy and verbally stated his concern.

"My God, I got drunk, and they slipped me crazy pills."

He heard a soft chuckle in response. A chuckle he had been praying, _begging_ to hear again.

"No, you're not crazy. But you are in trouble," the voice said kindly.

Schneider slowly turned to his right and almost fell dead. In front of him was Klink in his bed looking at him. He had his gentle smile that welcomed anybody in, and his pretty blue eyes sparkled a little. He was awake. Klink was awake and had finally come back to him. God had answered his prayers and let a wide grin grow on his face.

"Wilhelm," he gasped. "Wilhelm!"

The captain rushed to his friend's bedside and gently sat down by his legs, his headache almost completely forgotten. He got a better look at his friend and beamed like the sun. Klink's eyes were tired, but they had their sparkle faintly. His color had almost completely returned, and his weight was slowly coming back.

"About time you opened your eyes," Schneider said.

The leading captain gave a light smirk.

"You'd think after all that sleep I wouldn't feel so tired," Klink answered softly.

"I'm just glad to have my best friend back." Schneider replied. His look of joy quickly turned to one of scolding. "You out of your blasted mind; what the hell were you thinking jumping in front of that gun?"

"I needed to save you and Corporal Traeger. I couldn't have imagined losing either one of you that night."

"You realize you could've died for what you did?"

Klink fell silent for a moment, closed his heavy eyes for a minute, then opened them again.

"That was a risk I was willing to take," he said.

Schneider's eyes widened with shock. He had never known someone that loved him so much they were willing to die to save him. It both touched him and made him choke up a little.

"You were...willing to die...to save _my_ sorry rear end?" He questioned.

Klink responded with a fatigued smile.

"I was," he said. "I still am."

The lower ranked captain grinned back, grateful to have such a wonderful friend in his life, and patted his commander's arm gently.

"I'm very lucky to have you as my friend, Wilhelm...and if you _ever_ do something like that again, _I'll_ be the one to fire a gun at you next."

Klink chuckled lightly.

"I will take that under consideration," he answered.

The two men laughed softly and were about to start a new topic of conversation, when Burkhalter silently appeared in the hospital room. Seeing the newly promoted colonel, Schneider shot to his feet for a salute, quickly regretting his decision, and slowly sat back down by his friend while putting a hand to his head.

"Colonel Burkhalter, what are you doing here?" He asked, as soon as the wave of nausea wore off.

"I had heard Captain Klink had woken up from his coma. I came by for a visit to see for myself." The colonel remarked, his arms behind his back.

"Look at him, _Herr Oberst._ That's the healthiest man recovering from a gunshot wound I've ever seen."

Klink blushed through his closed eyes.

"Yes, I see him. I also see that you are almost back to complete sobriety," Burkhalter answered, a hidden glare within his dark eyes.

Schneider quickly hung his head and cleared his throat. He had been hoping Burkhalter would not have found out about last night.

"I uh...did not make many good decisions last night, _Herr Oberst_," he said, with shame.

"Neither did _Leutnant Geiger_. I will be having a very firm talk with him about getting another fellow officer drunk beyond all means. I have the right in mind of demoting him to the rank of private." The colonel replied.

"Can one even _demote_ a lieutenant to a private?"

"Of course I can. I have connections to the Kaiser."

Schneider shivered in his spot and swallowed a large lump that had formed in his throat.

"_Jawohl, Herr Oberst_. I do not mean to question your authority, _Herr Oberst_." He croaked.

"_Gut_. It will serve you better that way," Burkhalter said, then turned to look at his ailing man. "Klink, you risked your life to save two under your command. Everyone is calling you a hero for protecting the many lives that were spared the night of your shooting."

"I was doing my duty as a German officer, Colonel Burkhalter," Klink answered, raspy.

"You did _more_ than that. You showed a bravery no other officer that night was able to show. Your men are very proud of you, Captain. Which is why I brought them here for this special occasion."

At first, the captain's face beamed like rays of sunlight hearing that his men were there. How he had missed seeing their faces so. It was soon replaced, though, with a look of confusion. Klink cocked his head slightly to left and looked at Burkhalter befuddled.

"Special occasion? _What_ special occasion?" He asked.

The colonel left the room for a brief moment and shortly returned with Klink's seven boys. All of them were grinning and hurried to their commander's side.

"Captain!" Kaftan cheered, running to Klink. His foot had completely recovered, and the sight made the sick captain smile with content.

"Captain Klink!" Traeger cried. He reached the man's side and without thinking, wrapped his arms around him, taking Klink by surprise. The corporal almost immediately realized the lack of decorum and quickly stood back up and cleared his throat. "Sorry, _Herr Hauptmann_, my emotions got a little carried away there."

Klink faintly smirked and patted Traeger's arm gently.

"We're glad you're gonna be okay, Captain," Engel said sincerely.

"We thought we'd lost you, Sir." Basse added, carrying a bouquet of flowers the seven of them had bought.

"You guys will never lose me. I'm there even when I'm not there physically," the captain said, touched at all the kind greetings and well wishes he was getting.

"Hey, Colonel Burkhalter; what's this special occasion you told us about?" Boeck asked.

All seven flyers started chiming in and guessing with excitement. They were soon hushed by the wave of the colonel's hands. He looked at them for a moment longer, then looked back at Klink.

"Captain Wilhelm Klink, because of you, many officers and flyers were saved the night of August 18th from an outrageous attack against Germany. Captain Rudolf Schneider and Corporal Lars Traeger are standing here with us today because of your courage and almost sacrificed your life to save them. I hereby wish to award you with this Iron Cross for your outstanding service to the Kaiser and all of Germany," he said, pinning the award to the captain's light blue hospital gown. "And...by the power of the _Luftstreitkräfte_ High Command, I pronounce you now as Major Wilhelm Klink."

The new major closed his eyes and gave a weak smile as his men cheered and celebrated. He felt a hand touch his shoulder, turned to his left, and saw Schneider grinning at him with pride.

"Congratulations, _Herr Major_. You earned it, Sir," he said.

Klink felt very content and at peace that very moment. He had his best friend and boys back, he had made his country proud, and now he was a major of the _Luftstreitkräfte_ with a newly awarded Iron Cross. With those things in mind, he let his heavy eyelids fall and went to sleep.

* * *

(1) The _Luftstreitkräfte _is the German Air Force, but was formerly known as the _Fliegertruppe_ until its name was changed on October 8, 1916, when all branches of military air forces (army/navy) united as one organization: the _Luftstreitkräfte_, which would later go on to be known as the _Luftwaffe_ during World War II.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11:**

After another week in the hospital, Klink had finally come back to the air base. He was still easily tired and off duty, but he managed to have meaningful visits with other officers and flyers that came by to check on him. Many of them had given the new major many thanks and warm wishes to get well soon, and many others brought him gifts like chocolate, flowers, and expensive brandy. It sometimes overwhelmed him, but he appreciated the kind gestures and made sure to let everyone know that.

For the remainder of his recovery and medical leave, Klink spent his days lounging in his quarters either reading, listening to music, writing, or talking to a fellow colleague or flyer that had come to visit him.

It was Christmas, and the major sat in a chair in his living area reading a book while Christmas songs played on his radio. He wore his pajamas, a blue bathrobe with a gold eagle on the upper left of it, and was covered up with a warm green blanket. Once and awhile he would look up from his book at the fake Christmas tree in front of him and admired its beauty. He then would move his eyes to one of the windows and look out at the gently falling snow. It was a Christmas one would imagine in their mind.

Klink returned to his book and failed to notice Schneider come inside. The captain made his way to his friend's side and smirked.

"Good book there?" He teased.

Klink lifted his eyes to Schneider and chuckled softly.

"What's it to you?" He replied kindly.

Schneider smirked, then sat down on the sofa and crossed his leg over the other. His uniform and cap had fallen snowflakes all over it, and a present sat in his lap. Seeing the box, the major became curious and looked at his friend.

"What's that?" He asked.

"Just a present for my best friend is all," Schneider said nonchalantly.

Klink set his book in his lap, cocked his head to the side, and smiled.

"You didn't need to buy me anything," he answered.

"Can't a man treat his friend once and awhile?" The captain remarked.

"But I don't have anything to give _you_."

"Wilhelm, you being here for Christmas was my present. I couldn't ask for anything better."

Klink blushed and softly laughed.

"Well _danke_. That means a lot to me," he said sincerely.

Schneider smiled back, then placed the box in his friend's lap.

"Now open that bad boy. Tell me what you think," he answered.

The major untied the bow and lifted the lid off the box. He looked inside and smirked. He pulled out a soft white scarf and held it in his hands. He turned his eyes to Schneider and saw the man beaming.

"You can shut up now and quit complaining about not having a good scarf to keep you warm." He replied teasingly.

Klink laughed, then took the scarf and draped it around his neck. Schneider was right. It was nice, soft, and warm. He would be less chilly now that he had it.

"How does it look?" Klink asked.

The captain whistled.

"Ladies will be just _pawing_ at you when you wear that!" He replied.

The major gently tossed the box at his friend and shook his head.

"You're real funny," Klink said, he joked.

"All I ask is if you meet a good looking blonde, you need to ask her if she's got a sister. Captain Berkhoff will simply just not shut up about not having a girlfriend these days," Schneider answered.

Klink laughed, then his face grew a little serious, but was still smiling.

"How are my boys doing?" He asked.

"They're fine. Their usual goofball selves. Think they're ready for you to come back. Me marching into their barracks every morning at five and blowing a whistle to wake up is not exactly flying with them."

"I wonder why. How would you feel if _I_ came into your barracks and did the same thing?"

"You _wouldn't_. That's why I think they like you more than me."

Both officers laughed and gradually settled back down.

"I'll be back after New Years. Tell them to just wait a while longer," Klink said.

"We'll see how _that_ goes over. Might make them even _more_ rowdy." Schneider replied.

Klink chuckled, then swayed his head back and forth to his music and sang along with whatever was playing. Hearing his friend's singing again made the captain grin. He leaned back against the sofa, got comfy, and quietly listened to Klink. He was truly a man like no other.

* * *

(_Present Day: Stalag 13_)

"I _knew_ Papa was a hero," Kalina said, with a big smile.

"I never knew that's how Klink earned one of his Iron Crosses." Hogan replied.

"So, how did he get the other one?" Newkirk asked.

"And his Pour le Merite?" Kalina added.

Ignoring both of them, Hogan read through a couple of entries and passed over them, when he stopped at one and gave a sly grin.

"Kommandant, you dog," he said.

"What is it?" Newkirk questioned.

"Looks like our Colonel Klink had a little romance going on during the war."

"Papa dated a girl while in the war?!" Klink's daughter gasped.

"It looks pretty serious, too."

"Well don't just sit there, Sir; tell us about it!" The Englishman cried, filled with excitement.

"Was it Mama?" Kalina asked, grinning. She never knew her mother when she was well. She had been sick the night she was born and did not have many fond memories of her. Klink's ex wife had never been abusive or mean, but she had been scary many times when she suffered one of her episodes of psychosis. Screaming for no reason, standing or sitting for hours in one position, trudging around the house during the middle of the night with no explanation, they were memories she did not care to remember. Though with all of that, she still loved her mama very much, had a few good memories with her, and prayed that she would one day get better again. Perhaps even get back together with her father. The teenager knew it was highly unlikely with a horrific illness like schizophrenia, but she would never give up hope.

"Doesn't look like it, hon. What's your mom's name?" Hogan replied.

"Her name's Janine. Janine Ackermann," Kalina answered.

"Nope. This wasn't her."

"Come on, Gov'nor! We've hit the good stuff! Keep reading!" Newkirk urged.

Hogan shook his head while smiling.

"You two are killing me," he said, then sighed and picked the journal back up. "Alright, here it is. January 10, 1917: Dear journal, Today was my first day back in command, and man did I sure miss it."

* * *

(_January 10, 1917: Stuttgart, Germany_)

It was Klink's first day back on the job, and all of his men were up bright and early to prepare for his welcome back. They put up a banner at the top of their barracks door with '_Willkommen Zurück, Major Klink_' written on it, hung a few balloons up, and had a big bottle of decently priced brandy they gave Captain Berkhoff money to buy. (1)

It was almost 6:30, and the seven flyers were scattering to try and get everything ready before Klink and Schneider arrived for morning roll call. Rauland, Boeck, and Hausner frantically tried finishing the decorations, Traeger and Kaftan quickly poured nine glasses of brandy, and Engel and Basse supervised them and overlooked the entire preparations.

"Alright, men, let's pick it up here a little. _Herr Major's_ gonna be here at 6:45, and that leaves us with fifteen minutes to get everything ready for him," Engel said, looking at his watch.

"Basse! We forgot music!" Hausner cried, in a panic.

"We need music, what kind of music do we get?!" Boeck exclaimed.

"We could play the national anthem," Rauland suggested.

"Oh, that's so cliché. What about the Kaiser Wilhelm song?" Hausner commented back.

"Now that's just downright stupid. Major Klink isn't the Kaiser." Boeck spat.

"He's good enough he _could_ be!" The young private snapped back.

"Enough! Good God, just pick _something_! At this rate, you could play Bach's 'Toccata in D minor'," Engel ordered, crossing his arms with irritation.

Boeck and Hausner turned to one another.

"That's it!" They cheered, and hurried into the barracks, leaving the head sergeant to groan for mercy.

"Good God, it'll be _June_ by the time we're ready," he said.

"They're coming!" Traeger warned.

"Hurry it up and get into formation!" Basse demanded.

The sound of Bach's most famous work was soon heard playing, and Boeck and Hausner made their way back outside with the others. They all stood tall in their line from highest rank to lowest and waited to give the sharpest salute they ever did to their commander.

Klink and Schneider strolled through the compound talking about their daily assignments, when they were interrupted by the sound of an organ playing coming from the direction they were headed in.

"What is that?" Schneider asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Is that Bach playing?" Klink questioned. Who was playing Bach at this time of the morning, he wondered.

The two officers continued walking, got to their men's barracks, and were astonished at the sight they saw. Both of their jaws hung from their hinges and gaped at the seven flyers. They were all standing straight and tall, surrounded by balloons and a welcome back banner for Klink, a record of Bach playing in the background, and the picnic bench in the middle of the area displayed a bottle of brandy and nine glasses filled with the substance.

The major at first did not know how to respond. He was absolutely blown away at the gesture his men had done for him. Once the shock wore off, he gave a heartfelt smile, and his blue eyes twinkled with genuine gratitude.

"_Zehn Hütte_!" Engel barked. (2)

Without a word, the seven flyers snapped a strong salute in complete unison, then returned to attention and waited for their commanders to speak.

Klink and Schneider saluted back, then the two gestured for them to stand at ease. Once they saw the tension loosen from each flyer, the captain began speaking.

"Gentlemen, as of this moment I will no longer be your commanding officer. _Major Klink_ has recovered from his acute injury and ready to take back full command of the 410th Bombing Group. Without further detail, I now turn command back over to Major Wilhelm Klink."

The flyers clapped their hands and cheered with jubilation, making the recently promoted major chuckle and grow bashful. Once it had worn off, he looked back up at his men with genuine sincerity and appreciation.

"I would just like to start off by thanking each and every one of you for the tremendous bravery and kindness you've shown and given me these last four and a half months. It wasn't easy for me, and I'm sure it was even worse on all of you. You remained strong, though...for your country and for one another. It has shown me, Captain Schneider, and every other officer just what remarkable and courageous men you are. I'm very proud of _all_ of you," Klink said.

"We feel the same way about _you_, Sir," Basse answered, his arms behind his back.

"Had it not been for you that night, all of us might not be standing here right now." Engel added.

"_I_ certainly wouldn't have had the guts to do what you did, Major," Boeck said.

"Boeck, you hardly have enough guts to leave the barracks alone at night." Kaftan replied, with a snicker.

"Well you can thank Rauland here for dressing up as a banshee and scaring the living daylights out of me!"

"Are you kidding? That was hilarious!" The lead sergeant cried.

Soon all nine of them were laughing, when Traeger interrupted. "Hey! Let's all have a drink!"

The flyers rushed to the table, Klink and Schneider following from behind, and Basse handed his commanders two glasses of brandy. Once they had their glasses, Basse lifted his up for a toast.

"To Germany's biggest hero, Major Klink: the Iron Eagle," he said.

All of the flyers cheered, and the major in celebration felt his eyes begin to burn. He gave a bright smile, then looked over at Schneider. The captain himself was grinning back at him.

"Welcome back, Iron Eagle," Schneider said, with a pat on the shoulder.

Klink's gentle blue eyes twinkled as his face beamed. He turned back to his boys, lifted his glass, and took a grateful drink of brandy.

* * *

The rest of the day consisted of fellow officers welcoming Klink back to work, debriefs on what had occurred during his medical leave, and Schneider insisting that he make no plans for the evening. As much as the major tried to figure out what his friend was hiding, the captain was impossible to get to crack.

Once Klink had had his dinner, Schneider came to his quarters and walked with him to the officers' lounge hall. Klink continued to press on the matter and know what was going on, but Schneider would not budge. The two entered inside and were greeted by every officer in base along with pretty women yelling 'surprise' at them. On the stage hung a banner that read "Congrats, Major Klink" and live music, and in the corner was a bar with several officers already trying to get beyond drunk. It was a surprise promotion party all for him.

The major expressed his deep appreciation and thanks to everyone, talked with a few of his friends while Schneider went to get him a drink, then wandered around with his second in command either swaying to the music, taking sips of their brandy, or socializing with other officers.

"Rudi, you didn't have to do all of this," Klink said, still touched by the kind gesture everyone had planned for him.

"You didn't think you were going to get a promotion and not have a party to celebrate, did yah?" Schneider remarked playfully.

The major smirked and shook his head.

"_Danke, Rudi_...you truly are the best friend anyone could ever ask for," he answered kindly.

The captain smiled back and put a gentle hand on Klink's arm.

"_War überhaupt kein Problem, mein Freund_," Schneider said in response. (3)

The two resumed walking around, when they were greeted by a good friend of the captain's: General Arnold Stoltz.

"Rudolf, my boy!" The general cried.

"_Herr General_! Glad you could make it out here tonight," Schneider answered, shaking the man's hand.

"I _had_ to. Not everyday you meet a hero to the Empire." Stoltz replied, turning to Klink.

The major hung his head bashfully and chuckled.

"I was just doing my duty as a commanding officer, _Herr General_," he said.

"Major, don't be so humble. You should be taking advantage of this opportunity! It's not common to be called a living hero by _Seine kaiserliche und königliche Majestät_," Stoltz answered. "I'm surprised Colonel Burkhalter didn't make you a colonel _yourself_." (4)

"Well, you know Colonel Burkhalter, _Herr General_; it takes quite a bit to have him give one a promotion of _any_ kind," Schneider said.

The general responded with a smirk.

"That it sure does. If anything, he hands out _demotions_ more than promotions. I'm surprised most of these men aren't corporals yet," he said.

That got all three of them burst out laughing.

"No, I like _Herr Oberst_. He's a good man and a good officer...though he can be so dead serious about everything. It's like he got promoted and just forgot how to have fun." Stoltz continued.

"I think _Herr Oberst_ needs himself a girlfriend." The captain replied.

"Or at least a vacation," Klink added.

"Oh, which reminds me! I have someone to introduce to both of you," Stoltz said. He gestured for someone, and a beautiful young lady came in response. "Captain Schneider, Major Klink, I'd like you two to meet my younger sister, Gerda."

"_Guten abend, Fraulein_," Schneider said with a courteous nod.

Gerda did not respond. Her eyes were lost in the military officer before her. She blushed and gave a shy smile, her bright blue eyes sparkling. She was slender, a little shorter than Klink, had long blondish-red hair, and wore a short sleeved, light pink dress that went a little above her ankles.

Klink's eyes had the same sparkle in them as the general's sister did. He cocked his head a bit to the side, blushed himself, and returned the same smile back at her. She was probably the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his life. There was his high school ex, Marlene Schneider, but she had just used him for popularity status. He had been hesitant with getting involved with another girl ever since, but he could not pull away this time. Something about this girl just seemed different from the others in his past. Before he could realize what was happening to him, he was already too deeply in love with her.

The silence between the two continued on for several moments before Schneider chuckled.

"You alright, Major? You seem a little out of it." He teased.

Gerda shook her head, trying to clear herself of the fuzziness running through her mind.

"Forgive me, _Herr Major_. I was, uh...just wondering if you would...escort me to get a drink. Those officers over there frighten me a little," she said, timid.

Klink's smile widened, and his face brightened like the sun.

"Of _course_ I will," he answered kindly.

Gerda lit up as the major took her arm in his and walked her over to the bar.

Leaving the two to themselves, Schneider smirked and shook his head while Stoltz watched the duo make their way over to the other side of the room.

"I think Wilhelm made himself a new friend," the captain said, crossing his arms.

"Looks like I can say the same for Gerda. I haven't seen her smile like that in a long while." Stoltz replied.

The two officers continued to watch from afar the two lovebirds.

On the other side of the room, Klink pulled out a stool for Gerda to sit in, then they both turned to the bartender.

"One cosmo, _bitte_," the general's sister said.

The bartender nodded and left momentarily.

While he was gone, Gerda turned to the major with a flirtatious smile.

"_Herr Major_, you're such a gentleman." She cooed.

Klink silently smirked.

"Mama always told me to treat a lady with respect," he answered, growing bashful.

Gerda blushed, then took her drink from the bartender gratefully.

"_Danke_," she said.

The man nodded and made his way over to help other customers.

Again, just the two of them, the woman turned to the major and started conversing with him.

"So, you've always been with the military?" She asked.

"I actually tried to become a doctor before going into the military." Klink replied, taking a drink of his brandy.

"A doctor? Very impressive, _Herr Major_. What made you change your mind?"

Klink cleared his throat, and a look of embarrassment crept onto his face.

"Uh...I uh...I couldn't pass the exam into medical school...I failed by one point," he said, soft.

"Awww...forget about them. They would've been very lucky to have you as a doctor," Gerda answered, rubbing the bottom of the major's shoulder gently. Her response was Klink blushing even more.

"Perhaps we should...I mean if it was alright with _you_, that is...maybe we could...get dinner some night?" He proposed nervously.

Gerda smiled and nodded, her eyes twinkling like stars.

"I would love that, Major Klink," she said sincerely.

"Call me Wilhelm," Klink answered with a grin of his own.

The two looked at one another, completely lost in one another. Without even thinking about it, they soon were leaning towards each other and kissing one another.

They continued to kiss, and the bartender returned to check on how the drinks were. His eyes widened at the sight before him and tilted his head slightly to the left to see if he could get their attention.

"You two gonna need a refill there?" He asked, feeling intrusive.

When Klink and Gerda failed to answer him, the bartender waved them off, threw his towel back over his shoulder, and walked away back to the other officers.

"Youngins these days." He murmured with the shake off his head.

* * *

(1) _Willkommen Zurück, Major Klink _\- Welcome Back, Major Klink

(2) _Zehn Hütte_ \- Ten hut!

(3) _War überhaupt kein Problem, mein Freund_ \- Not a problem at all, my friend.

(4) _Seine kaiserliche und königliche Majestät _\- His imperial and royal majesty


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12:**

In the three and a half months since that night, Klink and Gerda had seen each other regularly. Most Friday or Saturday nights the two went to dinner, had strolls through the park, went into the city for a show or site seeing, or just stayed at base and lounged around in Klink's quarters. They were the talk of the base and the phrase, 'ideal couple' had passed over many lips.

Tonight was one of the officers' birthdays: Major Kantzow. Klink and Gerda joined Schneider in going downtown to where the celebration was taking place. Once they arrived at the restaurant, the trio gathered with Kantzow, Berkhoff, and two other officers, then began to socialize with one another. Nothing but smiles and boisterous laughter filled the atmosphere.

"Klink, I say you got it all now. A successful career, one of the top squadrons in the fleet, a clean record, and now a beautiful woman by your side," Kantzow said admiringly.

The major and Gerda softly chuckled, then turned to one another and rubbed their noses together.

"Hey Schneider, you oughta get yourself a girl like that." Berkhoff teased.

"No, no, no, no. I have my girlfriend, Diana, back home in Munich," the captain said, with a twinkle in his eye. How he missed her so. Her sharp blue eyes, her long, golden blonde hair, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met in his life. When the war was over, he was going home to buy a ring and ask her to marry him.

"Well I, for one, _definitely_ need to find a catch like that. Gerda doesn't happen to have any sisters, does she?" Kantzow asked.

Klink shook his head while grinning, then tilted his head slightly to the left and gave a silent laugh.

The group was about to continue their conversation, when Berkhoff noticed a _Luftstreitkräfte_ colonel enter the building and was gesturing for Gerda to come to him. A tall, slender man with dark brown hair and midnight blue eyes. When the girl saw him, she blushed with embarrassment.

"That's my brother, Colonel Alois Stoltz. I'm so sorry, I must speak with him quickly," Gerda said with shame.

"Not a problem at all, _liebling_. You take as long as you need to," Klink answered, looking at his girl lovingly.

Gerda beamed in response, kissed Klink, then quickly hurried off to her brother. The duo exchanged a few unheard words to one another and made their way to the bar to continue their discussion.

The major looked off in the direction Gerda and her brother had gone in and sighed with contentment. He had not felt so happy in a long time. Gerda had been the best thing to ever happen to him in his entire life.

"Klink, quit making us look like a bunch of lonely saps," Kantzow said playfully.

The six officers bursted out laughing, when Berkhoff noticed Schneider's glass of brandy was completely barren.

"Captain, your glass is empty!" He cried.

Schneider looked down and smiled.

"Well, I'll just have to go to the bar and get another glass, won't I. Be back in a few minutes," he said, and made his way from the group.

The captain sat down on a stool and waited for the bartender to get to him.

"Another glass of brandy, _bitte_," Schneider said.

The bartender took his glass with a nod, and left to refill it.

As Schneider waited patiently, he could not help but overhear the sound of two people arguing with one another. He looked to his left and saw it was Gerda and Alois. He was not the one to usually listen in on other people's conversations, but something this time told him to do so. Listening to his gut, Schneider opened up his ears and began to take note of what was being exchanged between the two.

"You've had over three months to get those military plans now. Instead you've been fooling around with that bumbling weasel over there!" Alois spat.

"I have not been fooling around with that bumbling weasel! He's been very locked mouth whenever I ask him about his work. I will get those plans if it _kills_ me. I'm going over to his quarters Friday night, I'll coax it out of him." Gerda defended herself.

"What about the numskull? What do we do with him afterwards?"

"I'll liquidate him. There's no way he would keep silent once he found out about our loyalties to Russia. Besides, I don't see _you_ doing any work around here."

"For your information, you little brat, I already have a meeting scheduled with _Oberst Burkhalter_ Friday night to discuss the possibility of getting assigned a new mission for Germany. I will try to get him to assign me to the one for Russia then...and if you _don't_ have those plans after Friday night, I will liquidate _both_ of you and report you as a traitor to the Kaiser!"

Gerda glared at Alois coldly for a long moment, then walked off in utter silence back to Klink.

Schneider sat there in shock at what he had heard. His best friend's girlfriend was a traitor. A spy for Russia who planned on doing away with Klink once she had gotten the use she needed out of him. It made his blood boil inside his veins and let out a steamy breath of air. Why would anyone want to use and do away with a man as nice as Klink? She was nothing more than another Marlene Schneider and took all of his strength to not make a scene right there and then.

When the bartender returned with his drink, the captain nodded with thanks, took a sip of his brandy, then looked back over at his friends. Gerda had returned to the group, was playing with the Iron Cross that his commanding officer wore, and received a nose nuzzle in response.

"That little witch...you don't _deserve_ to have a man like Wilhelm." He hissed, shaking his head. He had to warn his friend of what he had heard. He had to protect him from the woman's foul plans. The only thing that remained a problem was how would he prove it, and how could he break the news gently. "Don't worry, _mein Freund_," he said. "I won't let that woman hurt you if it's the last thing I do."

* * *

It was about midnight when Klink and Schneider returned to base. The major sat on his sofa in his pajamas and bathrobe while reading a book, when he heard a knock on his door. Klink looked up from his book, set it in his lap, and rested his arms over his middle.

"Come in," he said.

Schneider opened the door to his friend's quarters, peaked his head around the door, and looked at Klink with a grim look.

"I gotta talk to you," he said, it not being an option.

"What about?" The major asked, raising his eyebrow in suspicion.

The captain closed the door behind him and sat down in the chair across from Klink. He let out an uneasy breath of air, trying to find the right words to say to his best friend. He knew this would be hard on him and hated to be the one to do it to him. He had not seen Klink so happy since gymnasium, and it killed him to know the major would suffer the same heartbreak all over again.

"It's about Gerda," Schneider answered, wringing his hands.

Klink brightened at the sound of the woman's name.

"My beautiful Gerda," he said, picturing her in his mind. "Rudi, you have _no_ idea how great she makes me feel. I haven't felt this way about anyone in so long."

Hearing his friend's words made it even more difficult to tell him what he had heard earlier tonight. How did you do this to your best friend, he wondered.

"Wilhelm, I...I accidentally heard what she and her brother were discussing at the bar tonight. I wasn't meaning to eavesdrop, my ears just picked up on it somehow...She...she's...she's not who she claims to be." Schneider began, hesitating with each sentence. Klink appeared to not be buying it when he began to glare at the captain slightly.

"What do you mean 'not who she claims to be'?" The major asked, sounding more like an order than a question.

Schneider licked his dry lips, tried to figure out how to continue, then swallowed a lump in his throat and continued.

"Gerda and Alois are not loyal citizens to the Empire...they're working as spies for Russia."

Klink fell dead silent. He did not have a single reaction to what he was being told. After so long, Schneider began to wonder if the man had gone into shock. As he was about to ask if he was alright, Klink smirked and began to laugh. It did not fly well with the captain.

"This isn't funny, Wilhelm. I'm serious!" Schneider snapped.

"_My_ Gerda? Impossible," the major answered, trying to calm himself down.

"_Ja_, your Gerda. I heard it with my own two ears."

Klink quit laughing and stared at his subordinate harshly.

"I don't think this joke of yours is funny, Rudi!" He gnarled.

"It's _not_ a joke, I'm telling you the truth because I love you like a brother. I would not be sitting here telling you this if I didn't otherwise." Schneider replied, begging for his friend to hear him.

Klink crossed his arms.

"And suppose you're right, and Gerda really _is_ a spy; why wouldn't she have come out with it already?" He questioned.

"She's _tried_ already. She said that every time she asked you something involving the _Luftstreitkräfte_, you've either given a very vague answer or none at all. She's going to liquidate you once she gets you to squeal about the upcoming attack on Russia. I'm not telling you this to be mean, Wilhelm. You deserve better than her. Someone who loves you and cares about you. Not some gorgeous assailant using you only for military information."

The major's eyes widened in horror, and his jaw hung from its hinges. It could not be true. He did not _want_ it to be true. His best friend never lied to him, though. He had done this before with his first girlfriend, Marlene, and had almost lost him as a friend because he chose to ignore his warning. He had been sadly mistaken about Marlene when she had dumped him after gaining the popularity she had craved. Schneider had not been lying to him then, and he knew that he was not lying to him now.

Klink shook his head, trying to wake up from this nightmare. His mind was foggy, and he could not tell what was what.

"I can't believe it," he gasped. "I don't _want_ to believe it."

Schneider silently got from his seat, walked over to the sofa, and sat down beside his best friend.

"I know you don't want to. I didn't want to believe it myself," the captain said, soft.

"I've been used again...only this time I'm a fool to my country," Klink answered, fighting back his emotions.

"You're not a fool, Wilhelm. You weren't a fool in gymnasium, and you're not a fool now. _Anybody_ would have fallen for Gerda's act. I'm sure not even General Stoltz knows about his little brother's and sister's dark sides."

Klink went silent for a long while, then let out a shaky sigh.

"Is it wrong for a grown man to cry?" He asked with a quiver.

"You want my handkerchief or the one in your uniform?" Schneider responded.

"Whatever's closest."

Schneider pulled out his handkerchief he kept in his coat pocket and handed it to his friend. He put a gentle hand on Klink's shoulder as the major wiped his wet eyes.

The two men sat in silence while the captain waited for Klink to finish weeping. Once the major had stopped his soft crying, he put Schneider's handkerchief in his lap and turned to his best friend with grave eyes.

"What now?" He asked, sounding lost.

"We get even," Schneider said, with determination.

"How do we do _that_?"

"I've got an idea. But I'm gonna need your help to pull it off."

The major gave a sad smile and nodded.

"What do you want me to do, _mein Freund_?" He asked.

The captain gestured with his finger to lean in closer. Klink followed instructions and began listening to his friend's plan for Friday night.

* * *

The week came to an end fairly quickly, and it was Friday night before anyone expected it. While most of the officers on base went into the city for the evening, Klink paced inside his quarters as he anxiously waited to do his part of Schneider's plan. The captain had already left to gather a group of officers and go report to Burkhalter about their intruders. Until his friend's return, Klink waited for Gerda to show up as planned.

The longer the major waited, the more tension he felt growing inside his body. He had to keep his cool in order for this to pull off. Should Gerda get the slightest bit suspicious, the game would be up.

Just as he thought he was about to go insane, Klink heard a knock at his door; it was Gerda. He cleared his throat, took a breath of air in to keep composure, then made his way to the door and opened it wide. The major smiled and stepped aside to let his girlfriend into the building. Once the door was closed, the two turned to one another with a romantic gaze and exchanged a kiss with each other.

"I've missed you, _liebchen_." The general's sister cooed.

"I've missed you as well," Klink answered, soft.

"You do anything interesting at work today?"

"Nothing more than the usual, why do you ask?"

"No reason...just curious to know what _mein Held_ was up to." Gerda nuzzled Klink's nose for affection.

The major blushed, then tilted his head a bit to the side, his eyes twinkling.

"I try my best," he said humbly.

"Any upcoming assignments you're working on?" Gerda asked.

"Actually, yes I am. One I'm currently doing."

Klink's girlfriend cocked her head to the side and looked at him with confusion and innocence.

"Currently doing. What do you mean by…" she never got to finish her thought. She was interrupted by the pistol Klink held in his hand. His eyes were sharp and had a menacing look to them.

"Up against the wall, _Fraulein Stoltz_," the major ordered, rough.

Gerda backed up hesitantly with her arms in the air and began to shake with fear. Once against the wall, her demeanor went from afraid to furious like the flick of a light switch. She pulled one of her arms down to unzip her purse, when Klink's voice stopped her.

"I don't believe you'll find what you're looking for in _there_." The officer held up his left hand to reveal the woman's gun within its grasp. He slipped it into his jacket pocket and kept his weapon steady on his target.

Gerda's eyes were brimming with white flames. Her blood began to boil in her veins and looked at her dummy like an angry rattlesnake about to go in for the kill.

"_You_! You, you, you, you..._dummkopf_! How did you figure me out?!" She hissed.

"I have my resources, _Fraulein_. I know all about your plans to hand over secret military information to the enemy and my arranged murder once you've gotten it." Klink replied, with a snarl.

Gerda tried to leap forward to retrieve her gun, but Klink placed his finger over the trigger of his pistol and made her lean back against the wall. She shook her head slowly and used all her strength to keep herself from losing her already raging temper.

"You'll be sorry, Major. Just you _wait_ until Alois gets here! _He'll_ finish you off!" She snapped.

"I don't think your brother will be finishing _anyone_ off, _Fraulein Gerda_," a familiar voice said from behind the major.

The woman turned to see it was Burkhalter standing at Klink's doorway. Beside him was Schneider crossing his arms and glowering his eyes at her, and in front of them were two _Feldgendarmerie_ officers holding a handcuffed Alois at gunpoint. Their prisoner looked like he would strangle someone if he were to get his restraints off him. The sight only angered Gerda further and made her face turn a light shade of pink.

"You _Feigling_, you squealed, didn't you!" She cried. (1)

"I had no other resort to turn to. It was either be shot then or later. I chose later in hopes that you would have finished your side of the deal. _Clearly_ I was mistaken with your incompetence!" Alois replied, harsh.

"I would've finished my part of the deal just fine had this _dummkopf_ here had not figured us out!"

"Enough!" Burkhalter demanded. He turned to the two _Feldgendarmerie_ officers. "Gentlemen, see to it that this woman is arrested along with her brother. They are to be both charged with treason, attempted murder, and are to serve punishment by a firing squad."

"_Jawohl, Herr Oberst_," the one, a captain, said. He left his commander's side and handcuffed Gerda's arms together. Once he had a harsh grip on her, both _Feldgendarmeries_ shoved their prisoners out of Klink's quarters and headed for their headquarters.

The minute they had finished, the major handed over his ex's firearm to Burkhalter. The colonel took it graciously, put it in his jacket pocket, then looked back at his subordinate with slight sympathy.

"I'm sorry it had to end this way, Klink," he said quietly.

Klink did not answer. He felt heartbroken and betrayed all at once. He dragged himself to his sofa, then sat down and buried his face into his hands. A heavy sigh was heard coming from him and appeared completely drained of energy. He was soon joined by Schneider, who sat down beside his best friend and put a hand on Klink's shoulder.

"Don't worry, Wilhelm. There's a girl out there just dying to meet you. One you can spend many happy years with," he said.

"I don't think I'll be dating anyone for a long while, Rudi," the major answered, dim.

"Just worry about this war right now. There will be plenty of time to find love once it's over."

Klink slowly lifted his head to Schneider and gave a sad smile. He knew somewhere down the line something good would happen to him, but all he could look at right now was the tremendous ache his heart felt. It would take quite a while before he was ready to jump back on the field and try again.

As Burkhalter looked on at his two subordinates, he was brought out of his thoughts when the door to Klink's quarters opened, and a mail carrier walked inside with a grave look.

"Telegram for you, _Herr Oberst_. It's all the way from Berlin," the mailman said.

"_Danke, Herr Briefträger_. I shall read it immediately." The colonel replied, taking the letter with slight reluctance. (2)

The mailman saluted Burkhalter, then left the building without another word. Once he had left, Burkhalter let out a heavy breath of air.

"Berlin he says...it's never a good thing when I hear from Berlin," the colonel said, soft.

"What's it say, _Herr Oberst_?" Schneider asked.

Burkhalter unfolded the letter and quickly glanced at who it was addressed from. He already did not like the sound of it.

"It's from the Kaiser himself. Now I _know_ this can't be good," he answered, and continued to read. When he had finished, he shook his head and gave a hefty sigh in response. "Gentlemen, I'm afraid I have more bad news."

"What is it? Did Germany surrender the war?" The captain asked, with slight uneasiness.

"No, but we might be in trouble...the United States has just entered the war."

* * *

(1) _Feigling_ \- Coward.

(2) _Briefträger_ \- Postman.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13:**

(_Present Day: Stalag 13_)

"Poor Old Klink," Newkirk said. "No _wonder_ he gets awkward around pretty women."

"That wicked witch," Kalina hissed, crossing her arms and shaking her head. "How _dare_ she hurt my Papa like that! She didn't deserve a good man like him!"

"True, but had she'd been on your country's side, Klink and Gerda probably would have gotten married. Had they gotten married, you would have never been born," Hogan said calmly.

"You know, I don't say it much, but I'm glad she was a villain," the teenager answered, almost immediately.

Hogan smirked, shook his head, then looked back down at the journal.

"What else is in there, Colonel? We've got quite a bit left to read it looks like." Newkirk replied, curiously eyeing the book.

"Let's see…" the American said. Hogan flipped through several entries. They were either boring or just another successful assignment. He eventually paused and looked over the one currently on the page. "Hey...this looks like the day Klink and the Blue Baron got into that plane accident. This one and the several entries after it are a bunch of papers that came from somewhere else."

"That's strange. Why would he use all those scraps of papers to write his journal entries and not his journal itself?" Kalina questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"We'll have to read on and find out," Hogan answered. He placed the journal down beside him, grabbed the pile of papers in his hands, and read out loud the first one. "August 3-4, 1917: Dear journal...sort of, I write this as I lie in my hospital bed with severe injuries. How I ended up here is quite the story you're about to learn."

* * *

(_August 3-4, 1917: Stuttgart, Germany_)

It was a hot, humid day in southern Germany. Some parts near the borders of France and Switzerland were experiencing such strenuous weather that people had been ordered to stay inside their homes for the day.

While many men on base went into the city to go swimming, went to a movie, or went indoor ice skating, the rest remained behind and either were on one hour patrol duty or inside their quarters trying to stay cool.

Klink sat on his couch in agony as he placed himself in front of his fan that did little to help. In order to try and aid efforts, he waved a Chinese fan a friend of his brought back from a trip in front of his face. The heat was ridiculous, and he felt like it was literally draining every ounce of energy out of him. All he could do was sit in his white t-shirt and light pajama pants as he prayed for the temperature to drop for at least a minute.

As the major continued to cool himself down, the door to his quarters opened, and Schneider dragged himself in while huffing and puffing. His uniform and inside of his cap were drenched from patrolling, his face had beads of sweat on it, and his hair was matted down from all the perspiration. He threw his hat on top of Klink's dining table, unbuttoned his jacket, then collapsed into the chair across from his friend and groaned.

"I have never been this hot in my entire life. Just five minutes out there makes you wanna drop," Schneider said.

"It's not much better in here either," Klink answered, still waving his Chinese fan across him.

"I'm just about ready to desert and run away to _Antarctica_ at this rate. You wouldn't happen to know how friendly penguins are, would you?"

Klink smirked and placed his fan in his lap while looking at his friend kindly.

The two officers were soon interrupted by the door opening again. Only this time, it was Burkhalter who came inside. Somehow he was still in complete uniform and not sweating a drop beside a little inside his hat.

"_Herr Oberst_, how are you wearing that thing still? I'm about ready to take my shirt off." The captain remarked, feeling hotter just looking at the man.

"Cooling vest, Captain. It has proved very useful on a day like this," Burkhalter answered, his arms behind his back. "You should look into getting one."

"Colonel Burkhalter, not to sound ungrateful, but what are you doing here? Wouldn't you much rather be in your office where it's cool and air conditioned?" The major asked, curious.

"As correct as you are with that, Klink, I am here to see the two of you. I have an assignment for you and Captain Schneider." The colonel explained.

"God, not an assignment. Not _today, Herr Oberst_." Schneider groaned, going against his usual demeanor.

"Of course not. It's tomorrow. I sent anyone out today on a day like this, and I'd have over 500 deaths reported due to heat stroke," Burkhalter said.

"What is it you want us to do, _Herr Oberst_?" Klink asked, finding as much energy left in him as possible.

"There is a new captain that just arrived here to base. His name is Petterdale von Richter and is being assigned to the 495th Bomber Group. I want the two of you to teach him how to fly our newest plane model tomorrow afternoon," the colonel said.

"495th, that's not our unit, though. Why doesn't Major Zimmermann do it?" Schneider asked.

"Major Zimmermann is currently out sick with fungal pneumonia, and I am certainly not having his second in command do the job," Burkhalter answered, strict.

"Lieutenant Geiger?" Klink asked, with a dreadful look.

"Lieutenant Geiger," his commander said, returning the same look to his subordinate.

"I don't blame you then. Don't worry, _Herr Oberst_, we'll take care of it," the major said, his tone serious.

"Good. I knew I could count on you two. Captain von Richter will be here tomorrow at around 1600 hours. You are to be teaching him by 1645 hours, understood?"

"_Jawohl, Herr Oberst_."

Klink saluted his commanding officer, received the same in return, then Burkhalter turned on his boots and left for his office.

Once the colonel had left, Schneider hung his head back and moaned.

"You must be _joking_ me, Colonel. I don't wanna teach some kid, I _hate_ teaching," he said.

"I know you do, _mein Freund_, but we must do it for our country. Ever since the United States entered into the war, Germany has been losing _dramatically_ to the Allies. We must learn how to fly these new planes if we're to even have a _chance_ at putting us in the lead," Klink answered, his voice firm, yet kind.

The captain gave a heavy sigh and nodded.

"I know...I'm sorry, Wilhelm," he said sincerely.

"I know. I'm tired, too. There's nothing more I want than to go back to Munich, visit my parents in Dusseldorf, and finish school and get my mathematics degree." The major replied.

"Wilhelm...when do you think this war will finally end?"

Klink shook his head softly.

"I don't know, Rudi. Hopefully soon...I just pray we're the ones that take home the win," he answered.

Schneider nodded, and the two sat in silence. They were both tired, sick of fighting, and ready to go home and resume their old lives. Both of them knew the war eventually had to end; but as to when that would be, none of them had a clue.

* * *

The next day came by quickly, and the weather had settled down. There was a soothing wind coming through, and the humidity had dropped by quite a bit. A few clouds settled themselves in the sky, but only about three or four of them.

Klink and Schneider reported to their plane around 3:50PM and waited for Burkhalter to arrive with von Richter. Both officers put their hands inside their jacket pockets, looked around the area mindlessly, and talked to one another when the silence got to be too much.

"When do you think this kid's gonna show up, _mein Freund_?" Schneider asked, still dreading the idea of teaching some snot nosed kid who thought he knew everything. Burkhalter had briefed them both on how von Richter had been one of the top students in his graduating class and out-shined the others in basically every skill needed to enter into the _Luftstreitkräfte_. The last thing the captain wanted was to teach some bratty snob who thought he knew everything already.

"Oh, not too long now," Klink said, scanning for any sight of either the colonel or von Richter.

"Must we do this, Wilhelm? I do not have the patience to put up with stuck up college kids."

"Well, he just graduated from college. Maybe he'll have mellowed out by now."

Schneider snorted and crossed his arms. His gut was telling him otherwise.

The two did not have to wait much longer before two men came in sight. It was Burkhalter and who they assumed to be von Richter. Once the colonel had reached them, Klink and Schneider saluted Burkhalter, who returned the same gesture.

"Klink. Schneider. This is Captain von Richter. You will teach him everything you two know," Burkhalter said, sounding more like an order.

"_Jawohl, Herr Oberst_," Klink and Schneider answered in unison.

"Good luck...you will need it with this one." The colonel rolled his eyes at the last part. From his commander's tone of voice, the major already sensed this new student of his was nothing but trouble.

Burkhalter saluted again, then made his way back to his office, leaving Klink and his second in command alone with the very young captain. He was no older than 22 years of age, had dark brown hair, and piercing dark brown eyes to match. He looked at the two higher officers before him with a smug look on his face, all to Schneider's dislike.

Unlike his friend, who was returning the same smug look back at the subordinate, Klink gave a gentle smile and nod.

"Captain von Richter, it's a pleasure to meet you. Colonel Burkhalter has told us a lot about you. You have a very impressive record for someone your age," he said sincerely.

Von Richter looked the major up and down and was disgusted. How did this man manage to get to the rank of major, he wondered. He would have never made Klink even a lieutenant in the military. The cold and rude respect he was giving Klink made Schneider's blood boil and his eyes burn with flames.

"You will treat _Major Klink_ with some respect, _Hauptmann_! I can very quickly report you to _Oberst Burkhalter_ for _unbotmäßigkeit_!" The higher ranked captain hissed. (1)

The major gave Schneider a rigid stare, silently ordering him to cool it.

Seeing his friend's expression, Schneider let out a deep breath of air, loosened the tension in his shoulders, then returned to watching von Richter like a hawk would towards its next prey.

Klink looked at the captain a moment longer, then went back to their student and changed his expression to a friendly one.

"Well," he said. "Shall we begin?"

"Ahck!" von Richter sneered, then marched into the back of the plane, roughly brushing against Klink. Once inside the aircraft, the major turned around with a glare and gave a 'humph' while shaking his fist. He was beginning to feel the same way towards von Richter as Schneider did. Klink turned to his friend and shook his head. "You know, I'm beginning to dislike him as much as you do."

"Shall I go report insubordination to Colonel Burkhalter?" The captain asked.

"No. Not yet. But keep it in the back of your mind. We might need it later."

"_Jawohl, Herr Major_."

Klink turned back to the plane and gave a heavy sigh.

"Come on, Rudi. Let's get this thing over with already," he said tiredly.

Without another word to each other, the two officers boarded the plane and took off for the air.

* * *

It was a little over an hour by the time Klink, Schneider, and von Richter were flying over Kehl, Germany. They were about 90 miles from Stuttgart and right on the border between Germany and France. It was risky territory to be in, but Burkhalter wanted von Richter exposed to the French Border as much as possible. The colonel's exact words had been 'This man is to learn exactly what there is to be expected when going into enemy territory.' If that meant going to as close to France as possible, that's what Klink and Schneider would do. Although with von Richter's 'pleasant' personality, the two were doing this more for their commanding officer than the young captain himself.

"Where are we, Major?" Schneider asked, tapping his commander on the shoulder.

"About two miles from the French Border," Klink answered.

"How much further should we get? We're getting awful close to the enemy."

"I'll turn around in another minute. Colonel Burkhalter said to expose Captain von Richter to the enemy as much as can be."

The higher ranked captain turned to von Richter with a hard glare.

"You taking note of all of this, Captain?" He asked, firm.

"_Ja_. As much as I find necessary," von Richter said, with a sneer.

Schneider stared at the young man a moment longer, then snapped his eyes back to Klink.

"_Rotten kleine Göre_." He mumbled under his breath. (2)

The major scowled at the bickering happening behind him. He felt like he was flying with two small children instead of grown soldiers. As he was about to turn around and tell them to knock it off, he heard the distinct sound of gunfire and gripped onto the controllers as tight as he could. The French. They had spotted them.

"What was that?" von Richter asked, snapping his head around in frantic.

"It's the French Army. They've spotted us," Schneider answered, looking down at the ground for any incoming shots. "Can you turn around, Major?"

"Trying to, Captain." Klink called back, trying to maneuver their plane and avoid anti-air gun fire at the same time. He just about had made a complete 360 degree move, when one of the shots struck the left side of their plane and took off a little more than 3/4ths of the wing. It sent the plane leaning near a 90 degree angle, and the three officers gripped onto their surrounding areas for dear life.

"This wouldn't be happening if _I_ were flying this thing!" von Richter hissed over the thunderous booming.

"Just shut your trap and lean to the right!" The leading captain remarked.

Von Richter gave a smug look, but followed orders anyway. It managed to aid Klink's flying a little bit, but the plane remained at a slight angle.

"Do you think you can make it to Offenburg, Major?" Schneider asked.

"Probably _near_ there, but definitely not past it," the major said, focusing all his energy on getting out of this mess. He continued in his path, when an unexpected gunshot hit the plane's engine directly, blew off the propellers and almost all of the front end off the aircraft. When the plane began to plummet, Klink knew right then and there that there was no saving it. The engine was dead, and their only chance at survival was to jump out and land near enemy territory. "Forget it, Captain. She's going down. We'll have to parachute out to survive!"

"There's only one!" Schneider replied, a hint of anxiety in his voice.

"Then I'd advise you to grab it and jump out, Captain! Von Richter and I will jump out when the plane gets near the ground!"

"I'm not leaving you here to die, Wilhelm!"

"You'll jump out and get back to Stuttgart for help, Captain, and _that's_ an order!"

Schneider hesitated at first to move. He could not bare to let his friend die. He had just survived a near fatal injury, and he was not about to lose him again. _Permanently_ this time. But, respecting the major's higher authority, he grabbed the parachute, strapped it to his back, and prepared to jump.

As he was about to leap out of the plane, von Richter shot out of his spot and grabbed onto Schneider's legs.

"I'm not dying with _this_ nitwit!" He yelled as the leading captain jumped out.

"Are you CRAAAZZZZZZZZZZY!" Schneider bellowed, as both of them fell out of the plane and floated down to the ground below. When they were about to land, von Richter swung off from holding onto Schneider's legs and tried grabbing for a nearby tree limb. He missed by several inches and ended up crashing to the ground in a heap. His left leg landed with great impact, shattering just about every bone inside it. The pain was so much that von Richter fell unconscious.

Schneider gently floated down onto the dirt, discarded his parachute, then spotted the unconscious captain and reluctantly scooped him up in his arms. He scanned the area for any unwanted visitors, saw none, and began sprinting to the nearest town for help and transportation back to Stuttgart.

With Klink the only one to remain, he released the controllers, looked over, and shuddered with fear when he saw how far down he had still. He became frozen, unsure if he would have the guts to jump out when the time was right. The louder and higher the dive got, the more frightened the major became. He looked over the side again and saw he was going down fast now. It was either jump now or die with the plane.

Klink closed his eyes, let out a shaky breath, and as he prepared to jump, he thought of everyone he loved and was fighting for: his parents, his older brother, Schneider, his other best friend that was in the _Kaiserliche Marine_, his seven men, Kurt, the Kaiser himself, even Burkhalter. With them in mind and his trust with God held strong, Klink swallowed a large knot in his throat, opened his eyes, then quickly jumped out and screamed as he descended to the ground. He saw a bright flashing light out of the corner of his left eye that blinded him, heard the plane crash into its grave, and soon there was nothing but black all around him.

* * *

(1) _U__nbotmäßigkeit _\- Insubordination

(2) _Rotten kleine Göre_ \- Rotten little brat.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14:**

The first thing Klink heard when regaining consciousness was the sound of two male voices that were completely unfamiliar to him. What they were saying to each other was far from his knowledge. It sounded more like a bunch of jumbled noises than voices speaking. He slowly fluttered his eyes open to a brain splitting headache and a strange room. He lay in a comfy bed with an IV and hospital bracelet on his right hand and a white gauze patch over his left eye.

He grimaced at the pounding inside his head, then looked around the room with his one good eye when it subsided. There was a nightstand on his right with a lamp and notepad sitting on it. In front of him was a closed door, a sink, and, from what he could tell, a sofa sitting near the only window in the room. He could not see the view outside the window and was not sure whether it was because of his eye bandage covering the sight or the blinds being closed. He gave a tired sigh, then spotted the source of the two voices. Standing at the bottom right of his bed were two tall, young doctors speaking softly to one another. He still could not understand a word they were saying to each other.

The first one was so slim that it was almost concerning to the major. He had blue eyes and slick deep brown hair. He could not have been more than 28 years old. He carried a clipboard in the crook of his right arm and wore black pants, shoes, and a very long lab coat with a stethoscope wrapped around his neck. The second one was a tad shorter than the first one and wore black shoes and scrubs uniform with a surgical mask dangling around his neck. He had green eyes and light brown or very dark blonde hair.

Until another wave a pain struck Klink in the head, neither doctor seemed to take any notice of him. He moaned loudly, it being the worst pain he had ever felt in his entire life. Hearing their patient, the two men turned to the front of them and hurried to the major's side.

"Are you alright, Major?" The first doctor asked.

"My head." Klink groaned.

"Get him some acetaminophen," the first doctor said.

"_Jawohl_, Sir," the second doctor answered, and quickly left the room.

Once his co worker had closed the door, the first doctor returned his eyes to his patient and look at him with sympathy.

"You suffered a mild concussion, _Herr Major_. You hit your head pretty hard on a large rock and fell unconscious. Your left eye was damaged by a blinding light that came from your plane when it crashed. You'll temporarily be blind in that eye while it heals. The patch is to keep it from worsening in bright light until then." The first doctor explained softly.

Klink tried to shift in his position, but was greeted with a sharp shooting pain that ran up and down his stiff left arm. He screamed out in agony and began to sweat and pant in response.

"Easy, Major, easy!" The doctor urged, putting a gentle hand on Klink's shoulder. His name tag identified him as Dr. Fahr. "You must let your arm rest in its cast and sling. It suffered a tremendous injury from your fall. You whacked it on a pile of rocks, dislocated your shoulder, and caused severe nerve damage inside it. We put your shoulder back in place and performed surgery to repair the nerve damage, but I don't know if your reflexes in that arm and hand will ever be the same again."

The major's eyes widened a bit and looked at the man in growing horror.

"What do you mean by that?" He asked, shaky. "Will I be able to play my violin again?"

Fahr was dead silent. So silent that it scared every bone in Klink's body. The longer he remained quiet, the more frightened he became. The doctor finally let out a heavy sigh through his nose and looked at his patient with sympathy.

"I'm sorry, _Herr Major_. I'm afraid your reflexes in that arm will not be as fast as they once were. Your chances at regaining those skills and playing the violin again are very slim," he said, soft.

Klink felt like he suddenly could not breathe. Never play the violin again? He _loved_ his violin. It was basically his child. He had been playing since he was nine years old and joined his school's orchestra. He did it all the way up until he graduated gymnasium. He had just been placed as his college orchestra's first violinist when the war started. He was soon called to serve and had to put his music and education on hold. Now there he was. Lying in a hospital bed with a blind eye and broken arm that may never let him do the one thing he loved so dearly again. He felt like his heart had shattered into a million tiny pieces that could not be glued or stitched back together.

Klink closed his eyes to fight back his emotions, but tears began to stream down his right cheek. He had lost one of his close friends, he had no idea how far away he was from his base or men, and now he had possibly lost his ability to play his favorite instrument. He was really starting to hate this war and wished someone, _anyone_, would just surrender already. How many more cities had to be bombed? How many more people had to die? How many more lives had to be traumatized before this nightmare from Hell finally ended?

As he lay in a silent somberness, the sound of a door slamming open caused him to open his eyes and again widened in horror. Only this time, it was so intense that his body literally froze. Standing before the major were two men with sinister facial expressions and holding pistols directly at him. They wore dark navy blue pants and trench coats, black boots, and black caps with a rifle strapped to their backs. Their uniforms were strange and foreign to Klink. Who were these men, he wondered. Who were they and what did they want with _him_?

Fahr turned to the two men, crossed his arms, and returned just as menacing of a look at them.

"_Je t'ai dit de revenir 72 heures de plus_!" He hissed. (1)

"_Docteur, cet homme est un meurtrier! Il doit être enfermé comme l'animal qu'il est_!" One man, the taller of the two, demanded. (2)

"_Il a une grave commotion cérébrale et temporairement complètement aveugle d'un œil! Il doit rester sous observation pendant au moins trois autres jours_!" (3)

"_Vous défendez ce tueur_?!" (4)

"_Je suis un médecin! Je ne tue pas de vies, je les sauve_!" (5)

"WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?!" Fahr's assistant, Dr. Cuvier, bellowed, coming back with the pain killers.

Klink shuddered, clutched his belly with his right hand, and leaned forward a bit to keep himself from vomiting. All the screaming was causing a stabbing sensation inside his head that made the nausea almost unbearable.

Seeing their patient in distress, Cuvier hurried to Klink's side and handed him the pain killers with a glass of water. The major took them gratefully, lay back down, and grew more at ease as the medicine gradually kicked in. Once Klink was resting more easily, Fahr's assistant turned back to the other three men and narrowed his eyes.

"_Qu'est ce qui se passe ici_?" He ordered, crossing his arms. (6)

"Apparently these two nimrods don't know the meaning of 'come back in three days'," Fahr answered with a sneer directed at the two men in blue. They were members of France's military police, the _Gendarmerie_.

"That man needs to be locked up, Doctor. He is responsible for the many deaths inflicted on our people! I will not stand here and watch that demon walk out of here a free man!" The tall man, a captain, snapped. His eyes were lit with flames of rage. Just the sight of Klink made him want to kill the German. He hated Germany, he hated all Germans, and he hated what they were doing to his beautiful France.

"And I told you that this man needs to stay here for three days before being taken _anywhere_ outside this hospital! He has serious medical conditions that need to be under observation until cleared from any complications," Fahr answered, not losing his ground.

The captain glowered his eyes, his skin began to turn a light shade of pink, and he let out a steamy breath of air, resembling a bull about to charge.

"Very well, then," he said through gritted teeth. "Keep him for your three days. But once they are up, he's _ours_...And if you try so much as one attempt to get him out of here and back to Germany, the next head I put a bullet through will be _yours. Tu l'as eu_?!" (7)

Fahr grinded his jaw to keep his cool. He glared back at the captain with just as harsh of a look as he was getting.

"Fine," he said, terse.

The captain looked at him a moment longer, then stormed out of Klink's room with his subordinate following from behind.

The minute he could tell they were out of hearing range, Fahr shook his head in fury and shook his fist in the officers' direction.

"_Verdammt Franzosen. Ich sollte dir eine gute Dosis Zyanid geben_!" He growled, switching to his native tongue. (8)

"French," Klink gasped. His body began to shake with intense anxiety. "French, military police ordering for my release...where am I, _Herr Doktor_?"

Fahr let out a heavy sigh and looked at his patient apologetically.

"You're in Nancy, France, _Major Klink_...I'm afraid you have just become a _Kriegsgefangener_." (9)

Klink's jaw dropped from his hinges and lay there in pure terror. He shook his head softly, begging God that this was just a horrible nightmare he would soon wake up from. He soon realized that it was not the case and swallowed a large knot in his throat. _Kriegsgefangener_. He knew the word all too well and had heard horrific stories of the ones who had managed to escape from the enemy and get back to Germany. The way they were treated, abused, and looked at by enemy officers and guards. Knowing at that moment what future lay ahead of him, it was the one time in his life the major wished he would have died in the plane crash rather than survived.

* * *

The days at the hospital went by for Klink all too quickly. On his last night there he actually pleaded with Fahr to claim his condition had worsened, at one point even asking to be killed by lethal injection. As much as the doctor understood his fear and wanted to help his fellow countryman, he could not agree to his patient's requests. If he interfered anymore than he had already, both he _and_ Klink would be killed. All Fahr could do was ease the major's fears and give him sedatives to ease him from oncoming panic attacks.

It was finally the day Klink would be discharged from the hospital and taken into custody by the _Gendarmerie_. At that point, the major had given up all hopes of being rescued. It would be a miracle if Germany had just the location of where he was, let alone come and rescue him. All he could do was get into the _Gendarmerie_ car and sit quietly while he was taken to his destination.

As the car ride prolonged, Klink began to worry about his men. He worried about Schneider, and he even worried about Captain von Richter, who had been a complete snob to him and his second in command. How were they? _Where_ were they? Were they safe? Were they still in Germany? He had so many questions, yet so little answers. He tried to figure it out himself based off of logical thinking, when the car came to a forceful halt. It flung Klink against the back of his seat, making him wince at the sudden contact with his head. He heard men screaming in French and wanted to get out and see what was going on, but used his better judgment against it. He knew that unless he had orders to get out of the vehicle from someone, he would be shot for his actions.

The major did not have long to wait, though. Soon he was being grabbed by his good arm and flung out into an open area. While his left eye could only see shadows of people and colors still, he scanned his environment with building anxiety. The more he looked around, the more terrified he became. He was completely surrounded by barbed wire fences and guards wearing black helmets, blue uniforms, and carrying rifles tightly in their hands. There were very small barracks throughout the entire area and POWs doing activities such as sports, reading, or sitting on a bench and taking a much needed nap. All of them looked tired and rugged from days, perhaps even months, of little to no sleep.

Klink swallowed a knot down his throat and tried to keep his cool, when he was brought out of his thoughts by a man hollering something in French. He turned around to see where the noise was coming from and saw a tall, very thin man storm down the stairs of his office and make his way to the two _Gendarmerie_ officers. The two officers saluted the man, received one in return, then the man turned to his new prisoner and glared at him like a rabid animal ready to kill.

"Now what do we have _here_?" He growled at the German. He must have been the camp kommandant, Klink thought to himself. He was extremely young for one. He looked no more than 34 years old. He had dark brown hair, dark blue eyes, and was an inch taller than him. He had the looks to be considered a ladies' man, but also the looks of a psychopathic murderer just waiting to come out at any given opportunity.

"This is Major Wilhelm Klink of the German Air Force, _Monsieur Commandant_. Serial number A248448," the captain _Gendarmerie_ answered, his face expressionless.

"Shot down near the French Border along with two other officers that managed to get away." The second _Gendarmerie_, a sergeant, added.

"A major, huh?" The commandant gave a low chuckle. "I've never had a major before."

Klink began to shake under the man's stare. Was this man human, or some demonic spirit sent from Hell to inflict great torture on him? What he would not have given to have Burkhalter there at that moment to save him. He was completely frozen in his spot, not sure on how to respond to his new kommandant.

"He has a concussion, a broken arm, and partially blind still out of his left eye, _Monsieur Commandant_. He should not be of any trouble for a long while." The captain continued.

"We will leave him to your disposal now," the sergeant said, with a salute.

The kommandant nodded, saluted the two officers, and watched them drive out of camp. Once they were gone, he turned back to his new prisoner, and his demeanor changed drastically. His eyes burned with fire and looked almost inhuman.

"Stand up straight, Major," he demanded.

Klink stood as tall and as straight he possibly could. He fell dead silent and at one point stopped breathing for a moment. He felt just one wrong move would be the death of him.

"I'm Colonel Jean-Robert Dussault, and this is Camp 54 in Nancy, France. You will address me as Commandant Dussault, Sir, or _Monsieur Commandant_. You will not speak your native language, back talk me or one of the guards, or make any attempts at escaping from here. If you're caught doing _any_ of those things, I will have you shot and killed without question. Do I make myself clear, swine?" It sounded more like an order than a question.

"Yes, Sir," the major answered, shaky.

"_Bon_. You will be assigned to barracks nine and reside there for the remainder of the war. And when the Allies destroy you precious Germany, I will make it my main priority to remind you and your fellow comrades just how worthless you all are!"

Klink nodded with a grim look to his face. His self esteem was dying by the minute. The longer this man stood there and hollered at him, the more he felt like a piece of dirt. It made him start to wonder if he even treated the men under his command this crummy. If that were true, Dussault was no commanding officer in Klink's eyes; he was a giant bully.

The colonel stared at him for a moment longer, then turned his head to the left of him.

"Deveaux!" Dussault hollered.

A young man, a corporal, rushed to his commander's side and frantically saluted him.

"_Oui, Monsieur Commandant_," Deveaux said.

"Take our new prisoner to the infirmary. Make sure this filthy vermin is not diseased anymore than he already is," Dussault answered, with a growl directed at Klink. It made the poor major shiver more.

"_Oui, Monsieur Commandant_." Deveaux made his way to Klink and yanked him by his injured arm in a sling, making the German wail out in pain. It felt as if someone had just lit his arm on fire and ripped it out of its socket all at once.

"Quit your crying, Major. You're probably making it sound worse than it actually is." Dussault hissed.

Klink clutched his left arm protectively to his chest and fought back tears in his eyes. He made an 'oof' when the snout of Deveaux's rifle pushed him in the back.

"Get walking! _Vite! Vite! Vite_!" The corporal shouted.

Without a word, Klink followed orders and made his way to the infirmary with Deveaux in toe. Once he was far enough away and both Frenchmen were not noticing him, he gave Dussault the same nasty look he had gotten from him. He had never been one to hate other people, let alone by something so shallow as their nationality. But he hated _that_ one. He hated _all_ of them.

* * *

(1) _Je t'ai dit de revenir 72 heures de plus _\- I told you to come back in 72 hours.

(2) _Docteur, cet homme est un meurtrier! Il doit être enfermé comme l'animal qu'il est_ \- Doctor, this man is a murderer! He must be locked up like the animal he is.

(3) _Il a une grave commotion cérébrale et temporairement complètement aveugle d'un œil! Il doit rester sous observation pendant au moins trois autres jours_ \- He has a severe concussion and is temporarily completely blind in one eye! He must remain under observation for at least another three days.

(4) _Vous défendez ce tueur_ \- You defend this killer?

(5) _Je suis un médecin! Je ne tue pas de vies, je les sauve_ \- I am a doctor! I do not kill lives, I save them.

(6) What is happening here?

(7) _Tu l'as eu_ \- You got it?

(8) _Verdammt Franzosen. Ich sollte dir eine gute Dosis Zyanid geben_ \- Damn French. I should give you a good dose of cyanide.

(9) _Kriegsgefangener_ \- Prisoner of war


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15:**

(_Present Day: Stalag 13_)

"Papa was a POW?!" Kalina exclaimed.

"Holy cats!" Hogan gasped.

"No _wonder_ Ol' Klink treats us so humanely. That Dussault bloke was a ruddy monster he was." Newkirk added, completely in shock. None of the men in a million years would have assumed that their bumbling kommandant was once a POW himself.

"I assume Dussault is the reason Klink is such a coward when it comes to Burkhalter or other officers of high power. Can't say I blame him for that. It's a very reasonable explanation," Hogan said, putting little pieces together to their growing puzzle.

"But _why_?" Kalina asked, in horror. "Why would you _treat_ anyone that way?"

"Because war's a ruddy…"

"Newkirk, watch what language you use around young ladies." Hogan warned.

"...pain in the neck." The Englishman finished, quickly correcting his original thought.

"I don't care _what_ it was; you don't treat people like that! That Dussault jerk was just as bad as Major Hochstetter is!" Klink's daughter hissed, crossing her arms in disgust.

"Not everyone gets a parent that teaches them kindness and to have respect for others like you have, hon," the colonel answered, rubbing the girl's arm gently.

"It's still gross." She remarked.

"No one said war was pretty, love," Newkirk said.

Kalina looked down at her lap with a frown and let out a sigh through her nose.

"What happened after that, Colonel Hogan?" She asked, soft.

The American scanned the page and found where he had left off. He cleared his throat and resumed reading.

"I finally got to the infirmary, and it was one of the most unpleasant medical exams I have ever had in my entire life."

* * *

(_August 8, 1917: Camp 14-Nancy, France (same day)_)

Klink screamed as the medic, a German captain, tried to move his injured arm. He had taken off his old sling and cast to check the injuries over. The major had a nasty scar in the middle of his underarm that went from near his wrist almost clear down to his elbow. The medic could only imagine what kind of pain his patient must have been feeling at that moment. It made his heart ache, and he shook his head with sorrow.

"I am so sorry, _Herr Major_. I didn't realize how serious your arm was hurt in your accident," he said sympathetically.

Deveaux was outside the infirmary guarding the door, so it was safe for the two to speak in their native language.

Klink did not answer. His eyes and jaws were clenched shut to keep himself from crying out in pain. All he wanted at that moment was for the medic to put his arm back in a sling and cast, give him some sleeping pills, and send him to his new 'residence' so he could take a long, quiet, dreamless nap. His wish was soon granted when the medic tenderly wrapped his arm in a fresh cast and put it in a soft, light green sling.

The captain injected a shot of morphine into Klink's shoulder to ease the severe pain he was experiencing, then came back to the front of the major and looked at him with deep concern.

"You in any less pain, Major?" He asked.

"Yes, _danke, Herr Hauptmann_," Klink said sincerely.

"And your eye. How is it feeling?"

"Tired. As of now, all I can see is colors and shadows. If it weren't for my right one, I wouldn't be able to tell who you were."

"That is usual for people who were exposed to bright light and went blind temporarily. You should start seeing improvements with your sight in another few days or so. The only prescription I can give you is paracetamol for the pain in your arm and head and plenty of rest. You should sleep in your free time in between roll calls. You will not get much otherwise. Colonel Dussault does not like his prisoners sleeping in."

"Why does that not surprise me."

"Don't worry, _Herr Major_. It will be alright. The war will soon be over, and we'll all get to go home afterwards."

"Captain...has anyone ever managed...escaping out of here?" The last part Klink said in a whisper.

"Very few, Major. It's not impossible, but not expected. Dussault has his guards watch this place like hawks. Everyone that was caught escaping was shot in the head without question."

The answer made the higher ranking officer gulp and shiver from a sudden chill running up and down his spine.

"I wouldn't make any plans anytime soon, Major Klink. Just _thinking_ about the idea could cost your life here." The medic continued. "Besides, you're no where _near_ the physical condition it will take to outrun these guys. For now, I suggest you stay put and recover from your injuries."

"And do what; sit here and let my men back home worry ill about me? Stay locked up in this camp and remind myself that I could be here for years before the war ends? I can't even speak my own language without the threat of being killed!" Klink replied back, with fury.

The young man before him stood there with an empathetic frown, not knowing what to say to comfort his fellow countrymen.

Seeing the captain's sad look, Klink sighed, and his facial expression softened. He now felt guilty for yelling at the man. Especially after the kindness he had given him to freshen him from his earlier mental beating.

"I'm sorry, Captain. This is all just so much in one day," he said.

"I understand, Major. Just wish I could do something to make you feel better," the medic answered.

The major gave a small smile.

"I'll feel better after I get some sleep, Captain. I'm very tired as you must imagine," he said.

"Yes, Sir. If you need anything, _Herr Major_, give me a holler."

Klink nodded.

"I will remember that, _Herr Hauptmann_," he answered, and gave the medic a salute.

The captain returned the gesture, and watched as Klink slowly got to his feet and left the infirmary without another word.

The major closed the infirmary door silently behind him, then looked at Deveaux and patiently waited for the corporal to lead him to his assigned barracks. Deveaux eventually sighed with annoyance and lead the way to barracks nine. Once reaching their destination, the Frenchman pushed Klink inside and closed the door behind him.

The German gave a tired sigh, found a vacant bunk in the very small building, then lay down on the plank of wood mattress provided and began to drift into sleep. He was soon interrupted by a gentle shake of his good shoulder and opened his eyes to see a German lieutenant standing over him.

"Excuse me, _Herr Major_. You're in my bunk, Sir. You'll have to use the one over there by the window. It's much comfier than mine, Sir," he said softly.

Klink again sighed, heaved himself onto his feet, and sluggishly made his way across the room to his new sleeping place. He lay down on the mattress, a bit softer than the previous one, pulled up his thin blanket to his chin, and with an aching heart, he drifted off into a deep, dreamless slumber.

* * *

The next time Klink opened his eyes, it was not to the pleasant sound of birds chirping outside his window. It was to his barracks door slamming open, and Deveaux barging in while screaming in French.

"_Se lever! Vous tous, levez-vous! Maintenant maintenant maintenant! L'appel est en cinq minutes! En haut, en haut, vous tous_!" (1)

All twelve POWs, consisting of Germans and Austro-Hungarians, marched out of the barracks, Klink and another German officer taking up the rear. Noticing the look on his new bunk mate's face, the other German, a captain, smiled and stuck out his hand.

"Hi there. Captain Jurgen Berkel," he said.

Klink stared at the man's hand for a while, then gave a tired smile and shook it.

"Major Wilhelm Klink," he answered.

"_J'ai dit DEHORS_!" Deveaux screamed at the two men from the doorway. (2)

Both Germans sighed and walked out of their barracks side by side down to the last two spots in the second line. There were six officers in each line, and all of them were dead silent and standing as tall as they could. Without question, Klink copied everyone else's actions and mentally tried to imagine himself in a happier place. His efforts ceased to work when the loud boom of Dussault's office door closing rang out throughout camp, and the colonel himself emerged down the stairs of the building.

"_Caporal! Rapport_!" Dussault bellowed, making his way to the prisoners of barracks nine. (3)

Deveaux snapped at attention and gave a strong salute to his commander, receiving one in return.

"_Tout ici, Monsieur Commandant_," the corporal said with a proud smile. (4)

Dussault's eyes grew dark and glared at his subordinate menacingly. He looked more spooky in the night than he did in the day.

"Put that grin away, Corporal. You look like a twit with that look on your face!" He snarled.

"_Oui, Monsieur Commandant_," Deveaux said sadly, and slouched his shoulders. Once the colonel was not looking at him, Deveaux gave his commander a dirty look.

"Alright, you swine, listen or else," Dussault ordered. "All of you are now under the French's command. Let me make one thing clear with _all _of you: _we're_ the superior ones here, and you all suck. You're worthless. Stupid. Incompetent human beings. Murderers of innocent people. I give the orders around here, and if you don't like that, then you can be tortured and executed by the _Gendarmerie_ for all I care!"

"Your people aren't the only victims in this war! You've killed some of _our_ people as well!" A German lieutenant barked back, in a rage. He was soon being yanked down by his uniform collar and thrown onto the ground. The lieutenant looked up, and his eyes widened at the sight before him. Dussault was hovering over him with a demonic look while pointing a loaded gun at the center of his forehead.

Klink looked on in horror and covered his mouth with his hand. When he heard the gun being cocked, he closed his eyes and buried them into Berkel's shoulder. He could not bare to watch what was about to happen. He shook with apprehension and begged God to let the lieutenant go free. Unfortunately, his plea did not reach God's ears in time. The sound of gunfire soon rang out through the night. The lieutenant was dead.

Dussault put his gun back into its holster and turned to stare the remaining men down with the same look.

"Anyone else want to challenge me?!" He spat.

The eleven men were dead quiet. No one so much as made one move at that moment. Just breathing made them worry they would be next.

"Good. Now get lost! I'm sick of looking at all of you!" The colonel yelled.

"Yes, Sir," The eleven men of barracks nine said with a strong salute.

"And you," Dussault said, turning to Deveaux. "Take that body out of camp and bury it before I have you join it!" Without another word, the colonel snapped on his heels and glided his way back to his office.

Deveaux gave another dirty glare in the direction his commander had gone in, then threw the dead lieutenant over his shoulder and marched out the front gates to follow orders.

Once the prisoners were to themselves, Klink collapsed to his knees and looked on in the direction his fellow comrade had once lain. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to protest against the inhumane treatment Dussault and his men gave the prisoners, but could not find his voice to do so. All he could do was sit there and tremor at the horror he had just witnessed.

Seeing the major's distress, Berkel walked over to Klink and put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Easy there, kid. Nothing out of the ordinary here unfortunately," he said with sorrow.

Klink looked up to Berkel and got a better look at him. He was about his height. Maybe an inch taller. He was about 27 years old, four years older than him, had gray blue eyes, and dark brown hair that had a bit of a wave to it. He was fairly thin, but strong built.

The major gazed at him in a brief awe of his strong demeanor, then let his lip tremble and shook his head in horror.

"Why? Why would you kill someone in such a horrible way?" He pleaded to know the answer.

"Same reason we do the same thing to _their_ men: we're fighting for two different causes," Berkel answered calmly.

Klink closed his eyes and shuddered again at what he just saw. It made him ill to know that people like Dussault existed in the war. He knew death was a part of the process, but he could never understand why someone would kill another person out of a reason other than self defense. He then remembered the many bombing assignments he had gone on with his men. The many lives _he_ was possibly responsible for taking away. Was he a murderer? Was he just as evil as Dussault was?

Berkel helped Klink to his feet and wrapped an arm gently around the younger officer's shoulders.

"This is normal POW camp life, Major. We can do all we can to try and stop it, but we'll always come out on the short end," the captain said.

"It'll be alright, Major. As long as you leave the Frenchies alone, they'll leave _us_ alone." Another officer added. He was very heavy, around 25 years old, and wore a different uniform from Berkel and Klink. He was an Austro-Hungarian lieutenant, about 6'0" tall, had light brown hair, and brown eyes to go with it. "Lieutenant Jan Wimmer, pleasure to meet you, Sir."

"Major Klink, thank you," Klink answered tiredly, with a nod.

"Come on, then. Let's get you something to eat. Looks like you could use a little filling up there," Berkel said, patting the major on his good shoulder.

"What do you have to eat around here?" Klink questioned, raising an eyebrow with curiosity.

"We got dry bread, biscuits, or some strange meat thing they're serving in the mess hall." Wimmer replied.

Klink's stomach began to feel a little queasy at the mention of the last option. Deciding it was better not to ask another question, he gave his answer.

"I'll take a biscuit and some water, please."

Berkel chuckled softly and shook his head.

"Major, you've got lots of learning to do," he said.

Though still deeply upset with the new life he had been thrown into, the major gave a small smile back at his new companions and followed them inside their barracks.

* * *

(1) _Se lever! Vous tous, levez-vous! Maintenant maintenant maintenant! L'appel est en cinq minutes! En haut, en haut, vous tous_ \- Get up! All of you, get up! Now now! Roll call is in five minutes! Up, up, all of you!

(2) _J'ai dit DEHORS_ \- I said OUTSIDE!

(3) _Caporal! Rapport_ \- Corporal! Report!

(4) _Tout ici, Monsieur Commandant_ \- Everyone is here, Mr. Commandant.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N****:** Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! Wish you lots of happiness and good cheer for the holidays.

* * *

**Chapter 16:**

Two months went by since Klink's arrival to Camp 54. Since then, he had become the camp's Senior POW, and his arm was still healing, but slowly improving with each day. He no longer needed the sling, but his arm remained in a cast. His left eye had almost completely recovered, but his ability to read and see things from far away had yet to come back to him. People's faces and words on signs further away had become more than blurry for Klink to read or recognize. When it continued to not improve, he finally went back to the camp medic for an eye examination. He unfortunately had no answers and said only a highly trained medic would be able to give him an answer to his eye's failing sight. The diagnosis made the major want to go home even more than beforehand.

It was a warm day out for the month of October. The prisoners were out and about playing sports, sitting in the shade of the barracks taking a nap, or wandering around camp with their friends and talking up a grand storm. As for Klink, he, Berkel, and Wimmer hung around near the bench in front of their barracks. Wimmer sat down on the bench eating a sandwich he had made, and Berkel and Klink stood beside it while leaning against the barracks and watching the others in the compound.

"Not every October you see this nice kind of weather, huh," the captain said to his friends.

"You never see this kind of thing back in Austria-Hungary. Just doesn't happen," Wimmer answered, smacking his lips.

Berkel looked over at the lieutenant, saw his sandwich, and sighed while wearing a grin.

"Is that all you ever do is eat?" He teased.

"Hey, the more food I eat, the better I'll be for the winter." Wimmer replied.

Berkel smirked and shook his head.

"Lieutenant, you'll have to learn a lesson from us Germans. It is much colder where _I _live than it is here," he said.

"You hear what he's telling me, Chief?" The lieutenant remarked to Klink. 'Chief' had been the nickname Wimmer had given the major. Whether he liked being called it or not remained unknown to all of them. He never said anything regarding not calling him it, but he never smiled or acknowledged it either. The Senior POW kept very reserved and was much quieter than the rest of them.

Like usual, Klink did not respond. He looked on at the other men before him and felt empathy for them. None of them deserved to be pinned up like animals in a barn and treated just as poorly. He had no idea how anyone in their right mind could treat other human beings so hideously. How one could just shoot, murder, abuse, and traumatize another life without any remorse or guilt afterwards? It made him ill to his stomach. But what could he do about it? If he stood up for his and everyone else's rights, he would be shot by Dussault without question. It did not matter what he and the others wanted; if they were not French, they were not human.

Noticing the strange look in his commander's eyes, Berkel cocked his head to the side and grew concerned.

"Major Klink, you alright there?" He asked.

No answer.

"Major Klink," he again said.

That time he got the officer to shake his head clear of his thoughts and turned to his friend.

"Huh?" He replied.

"You feeling alright, Sir? You look like something's on your mind." Berkel continued.

"Yes, I'm alright...just thinking is all," Klink answered, with fatigue.

"Looks like it's something pretty serious."

"I just can't understand it; why would _anybody_ in a sane mindset think it's alright to treat other human beings like this? We Germans and Austro-Hungarians laugh, scream, cry, and love just as much as another Frenchman!"

"Like I said before, Major; we're fighting for two different causes. They want us to lose political power, and we want to maintain it."

"Would it not just be easier to divide everything evenly with each country fighting?"

"Doesn't work like that unfortunately. Great Britain, France, and now the United States are power hungry. They want everything and for us to have nothing. And if they win the war, that's exactly what'll happen."

Klink gave a heavy sigh and continued to look on at the others with depression. The longer he was in this war, the more depressed he got. Cities getting ruined, people being murdered, countries thrashing at one another's throats for something that sounded completely stupid to him. He just could not comprehend all of it. Some he understood, some he would _never_ understand. He missed his friends, his family, his college, his entire homeland. Instead in the safety of his beautiful Germany, he was now at the hands of evil in a prison with little chance of escaping. At that point, all he wanted was for the war to end, no matter who was the victor, and go home to Germany again. A pretty self absorbed mindset, but that's how he felt, and he was not fighting with it any longer.

The three officers continued to watch their fellow comrades in silence, when their eyes caught on to a new sight sparking curiosity. It was another German officer, a very young one, walking hesitantly up to Dussault for some reason. The kommandant was standing in front of his office, his arms crossed and glaring at his prisoners like a mad lion ready to attack and kill if he felt necessary.

The German officer finally reached the French colonel and stood there in frozen silence. He looked as if he were trying to figure out how to get the man's attention without setting him off.

"Who's the little guy?" Wimmer asked.

"_Ich weiß nicht_. I've never seen him before," Berkel said, crossing his arms in interest. (1)

"And why in God's name would he be wanting to speak with _Herr Hitzkopf_ there?" (2)

"Let's wait and find out for ourselves."

The three men went quiet again and made their eyes back to the front of them.

The unknown German officer reached his hand out while shaking and just barely tapped the kommandant's arm for his attention. He got a nasty look and pushed forcefully down onto the ground in response. The young officer tried to stand back up, but got pushed down again, only this time with Dussault's boot. The German tried to explain himself, but the French colonel would not have it. He started screaming and bellowing in French, and the prisoner was pleading with Dussault, no one able to make out what they were saying to one another. It was when Dussault pulled out his pistol did Klink not put up with it anymore. He refused to see another one of his men fall victim to the enemy and would protect this new officer even if it meant dying to do so.

The major stormed away from his friends, who began crying out their concerns and pleas.

"Chief, don't do it!" Wimmer yelled.

"Don't go in there, Major! He'll kill you, too!" Berkel begged.

Klink continued to ignore their warnings and made his way to the officer. He became absolutely stunned once getting a better look at him. He was no where _near_ a man. He was just a young boy. A little teenager that did not look more than fourteen or fifteen years old. He had dark blonde hair, baby blue eyes, and had no cap on his head. He looked up at Klink, and the major could see the terror and fear the poor teenager had. It infuriated him even more now knowing that Dussault was attacking a child. He loved children. He felt they were the only innocent souls left in this war. Out of everyone on the planet that deserved to die, children were no where _near_ that factor, and he would not let an innocent child be abused or die at the hands of anyone.

Klink snapped his blazing eyes at his French dictator, stepped in front of the young boy, and stared Dussault down in utter silence. He did not flinch, he did not shake, he did not speak.

The young officer looked up at the older German with his mouth dropped and his eyes wide. He could not believe what he was witnessing. He had never heard of a POW standing up to his captor. Yet, there he was. Witnessing nothing other than just that.

Dussault, on the other hand, felt his blood pressure spike to an all time high. His face turned a dark red, and his dark blue eyes were consumed with a raging fire completely out of anyone's control. His grip on the pistol tightened to the point his knuckles began to turn white.

"I'd advise you to get out of the way, _Majeur_. You'll be joining that _vermine allemande_ otherwise." He hissed. (3)

Klink did not budge. He gave the same dirty look right back at his kommandant. Though he felt like fainting from the intense fear running up and down his spine, he would not back down. There would be no shot at change around Camp 54 if they all continued to cower under their captors, and more of his comrades would die if something was not done. He wanted to cower just as much as the rest of them. Dussault scared him. _Terrified_ him. He was a demonic monster who had done nothing but kill his self confidence, his fighting German spirit, and the assertive man he once had been. This was not right, though. He believed in humanity, and this was certainly not anything like it. He had bruises and horrific memories engraved in his mind obtained at the camp to prove it.

The two high ranking officers stood there gawking at one another in a haunting silence that seemed to consume the entire camp. Neither one of them moved from their spots. They were as motionless as marble statues one would see in an art museum. It went on for about four more minutes before Dussault's hand gripping the pistol began to shake a bit. His enemy's stare was cold and almost rabid like. It had been one of the most intimidating stares he had seen in over ten years. This man was someone to keep a careful watch on. He was different than the other prisoners. He had more bravery and strength than the others. Though he had managed to break a lot of the man's spirit already, Dussault knew there was more that still needed breaking.

He slowly dropped his arm and reluctantly slid his firearm back into its holster, making Klink quietly sigh with relief. He was beginning to wonder when or if it would ever end.

The French kommandant looked at the German firmly and grinded his jaw.

"You're strong, Major," he said admittingly.

Klink did not answer. He kept his fierce demeanor, though he could be seen by Dussault that he was starting to shake a little.

"Fine. Keep the little rat. But something like this will never happen again, got it? Next time I'll just shoot him on sight," the kommandant threatened, with a bark. He swiftly turned on his boots and stormed away in an unhealthy fury.

The major looked in the direction Dussault had gone in for a minute longer, then turned to the frightened boy behind him and softened his facial expression. He bent over and helped the young officer to his feet.

"You alright there?" He asked, with genuine concern.

The boy, who was about 5'3", looked up at his hero with big, scared eyes. His lip trembled, then ran to Klink, wrapped his arms around him tightly, and started to cry.

The sudden action at first took Klink by surprise. He looked down at the teenager with his mouth slightly dropped, then a gentle smile grew on his face. He held the boy close as if he were his own son and rubbed the back of his head.

"You're okay. I won't let him hurt you." He promised.

The boy wept a little more, then released the major and wiped his wet eyes with his jacket sleeves. Once he was sure no more tears were streaming down his face, he again looked up at Klink. This time instead of fear, he had a gaze of admiration and amazement.

"How did you do that? How did you make him back off like that?" The teenager asked.

Klink silently chuckled.

"Takes many years of practice and a whole lot of guts," he answered.

"Can you teach me how to do that?" The boy replied.

Klink's smile brightened a bit.

"I'm afraid you have to learn it on your own. It's something that can't be taught," he said.

The teenager smiled back and gave a firm nod.

"What's your name, soldier?" The major asked.

"Lieutenant Kai Elssler, _Herr Major_."

"Lieutenant, huh. You look awful young to be an officer. How old are you?"

"Fourteen, Sir."

"Fourteen?!" Klink gasped. "You're a lieutenant and only fourteen years old?"

"They're starting to run low on people able to fight in combat. They made me a lieutenant since I was one of the best navigators in my class."

"Amazing. So you were like your commanding officer's right hand man."

"Sure was, Sir...then _these_ guys decided to shoot our plane down. _Mein Oberst_ was fortunate to get away, but they caught me. They brought me here last night while everyone was asleep. The kommandant gave me the rundown of camp this morning...why did he lash out at me, though? I just wanted to ask him where the showers were."

"What if _I _showed you around camp?" Klink suggested.

"You'd do that?" Kai asked, slightly stunned.

"_Something's_ gotta keep this Senior POW busy."

The major wrapped an arm around Kai's shoulder, then walked off with him and gave the full tour of Camp 54.

* * *

(1) _Ich weiß nicht_ \- I don't know.

(2) _Herr Hitzkopf_ \- Mr. Hothead_  
_

(3) _V__ermine allemande_ \- German vermin


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17:**

(_Present Day: Stalag 13_)

"That a boy, Klink!" Hogan gasped, impressed with his kommandant's courage. He had never expected bumbling, whimpering Colonel Klink to stand up to someone in such a way. His time in Camp 54, though, did explain a lot of things. How he had lost his once stern and tough backbone, why he always bragged about himself in such a pompous way, and why he was so terrified of those with higher power than he held. If Klink acted the same way as Dussault had with how he ran Stalag 13, the American and the rest of his men would be traumatized just as much as the German himself was.

"Three cheers for our favorite Kraut!" Newkirk commented, with a grin. He too was impressed with Klink's actions. He had acted in the same way Hogan would have for one of them. Looked like their withering kommandant had a touch of courage buried deep down inside of him after all. He certainly stood his ground when it came to Kalina and children. But then again, what good parent _did not_ stand their ground when protecting a child from harm? Kalina was Klink's little baby. When it came down to her, nothing else mattered to him but her safety and happiness.

Kalina grinned at her friends' comments, but also grinned with pride and admiration for her father. She would have never in a million years had the guts to stand up to someone like Dussault was. A man who had been so abusive, malicious, and violent towards anyone other than his fellow countrymen was enough to have her shaking in her boots and running in the opposite direction. Though she had stood up to several enemies since joining the Allies in the resistance, none compared to how Dussault had been depicted in her father's journal. The French kommandant was just as evil as the Gestapo.

"You tell 'em, Papa," she said, her face beaming.

"Blimey! Ol' Klink could be a real bad…"

"Newkirk," Hogan warned.

"_Man_. Bad man I meant to say."

The kommandant's daughter could not help herself but giggle. Sometimes the Englishman just cracked her up with his personality.

"Could you imagine the look on Burkhalter's face if he read _half_ of the stuff we've already gone over?" The colonel asked, waving the papers in his hand.

"The man would have a ruddy heart attack," Newkirk remarked.

"Now _that_ would be a facial expression worth seeing."

Kalina gave a soft sigh, and her shoulders drooped as a frown crept onto her face.

"You don't think we got Papa into deep trouble with _Herr General_ because of that meeting he missed, do you?" She asked with concern.

"Nah. He'll be upset over it for a while, but he'll get over it eventually. Besides, when have you ever seen Burkhalter in a _good _mood?" Hogan replied.

The Senior POW's comment got both Kalina and Newkirk to smile. He was right; when was General Albert Burkhalter ever caught with a smile on his face?

* * *

Klink and Burkhalter sat in the kommandant's quarters across from one another in the living area. Klink sat on his sofa and across the coffee table in front of him sat his commanding officer in a chair. The general had decided that if his subordinate could not come to him for their meeting, he would go to Klink.

Each of them had a drink in front of them and had just wrapped up their meeting regarding updated camp regulations and a slight change in the interrogation process of incoming POWs.

"General Burkhalter, thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to come here and have this meeting with me," the kommandant said sincerely.

"It was no trouble at all. And I expect this type of thing to not happen again. Otherwise I will be making time out of my busy schedule to see you off to Stalingrad," Burkhalter answered, the last part terse.

Klink frowned and nodded frantically.

"Yes, Sir. It will never happen again," he said, meek.

"I just don't understand it, Klink. You used to be so assertive and fierce back in your younger days. You've been different ever since escaping from Camp 54." Burkhalter replied, trying to understand what had happened between the time the colonel had been shot down over the French border and returning to Germany for the remainder of World War I. Klink never talked about what had occurred during his time being held prisoner in France, so the general had more questions than answers.

The kommandant seemed to tense, swallowed a giant knot in his throat, and he appeared to be just barely trembling with his haunting past.

"I, uh...prefer to leave that part of my life out of memory, _Herr General_," he answered, shaky.

"It's not good to keep bad memories locked up inside, Klink. It can drive a man insane," the general said. He sounded more like a friend than a commanding officer at that moment. It was something Klink had not seen or experienced in years. It was both comforting and strange to him.

"Is it possible for a man's memories to drive him insane if he _does_ remember them?" The colonel asked, the nightmares of what he experienced and saw at Camp 54 slowly returning to him.

"Quite possibly. In most cases, it is usually the other way around. I have seen it happen to many officers before. Some went as far as trying to end their lives because of it."

Klink's eyes widened with shock at hearing that.

"Try to end their lives?" He gasped. The idea of dying to this day still terrified him. Why would anyone wish to _purposely_ die, he wondered.

"About four times I have seen it happen," Burkhalter said, with a neutral expression.

"Can insanity really lead a man to..._suicide_?"

"It's not uncommon, unfortunately. Do not fall into the same trap, Klink. It is almost near impossible to come out of once you are there."

Klink nodded in acknowledgement.

"Yes, Sir. I shall keep that in mind, _Herr General_," he answered.

"Good. Now if you will excuse me, I must be getting back to Berlin. I have lots of paperwork waiting for me there." Burkhalter replied, getting to his feet.

"_Jawohl, Herr General_. I wish you luck in your paperwork."

The two officers exchanged salutes, and the general made his way to the door. He stopped as he opened it and turned back to the kommandant.

"And Klink," he said.

The colonel in question looked up from his drink at his commander.

"Remember what I said." Burkhalter finished.

"Yes, Sir..._danke_, General Burkhalter," Klink said.

Without another word, the general made his exit and closed the door behind him.

All to himself, Klink gave a heavy sigh, finished his glass of brandy, then leaned back against the sofa and put his right hand on his belly as he thought back on Burkhalter's words and his time in Northern France during World War I. He had not thought about his time in the war for over twenty years now. Most of his memories he had chosen to forget about. The sounds of gunfire, bombs going off, people screaming in terror, it was enough to make him shudder. Then there was Camp 54 and Kommandant Dussault. Two things that Klink wished he could permanently erase from his mind. The lashings, the yelling, the beatings, being told that he and his countrymen were nothing more than a bunch of murderous, filthy vermin that needed to be eliminated. It made him feel sick just thinking about it. He had become a rambling coward, and it was all thanks to that French demon he had met twenty-seven years ago.

He then thought of Berkel, Wimmer, and Kai and could not help himself but smirk. He wondered how they were doing. None of them had had contact with one another since the end of World War I. He assumed Wimmer had gone back to school to finish being a doctor, and Berkel had returned to his job as a business manager. Kai, however, he was unsure of. Did he finish school? Did he have a job? Was he still with the military? Had he moved to another country for better work? None of those questions he could answer confidently.

Klink lay his head back on the sofa, looked off slightly to his left, and gave a sad smile as he remembered his dear friends and their time together at Camp 54.

* * *

(_November 1917-February 1918: Camp 54-Nancy, France_)

Ever since Kai came to camp, Klink had become his mentor and like a father to him. The major had taken him under his wing, taught him the rules and regulations of camp, and did all he could to ensure his safety and peace of mind. The two, plus Berkel and Wimmer, had become a group of four and felt more family like. It was comforting in a way and made Klink's days in camp more bearable.

Months went by, and a new year had arrived. It was the middle of February and although snow still remained on the ground in patches, the weather was starting to warm up a bit. Instead of sitting inside the barracks next to the stove all day, the prisoners could finally once again go outside and do activities such as sports or socialize with their friends in the barracks.

At the moment, Klink, Berkel, Wimmer, and Kai were all playing a game of basketball. Berkel and Wimmer were a team of two, and the Senior POW and Kai were the other one. At the moment, Klink and Kai were beating the other team by two points, much to Berkel's dismay. Though not a sore loser, he always tried to explain that he lost because of a bad call or something completely out of his control.

"Major Klink! Major, over here!" The youngest officer cried, stretching his arms up as high as they could go. It was difficult to make himself completely visible due to the captain being ten times his size.

It took the major a while to figure out where Kai was. His vision was still so poor when it came to seeing far away people or objects. When he spotted a moving form in the distance to the right, he tossed the basketball towards who he assumed was Kai...but it was not Kai.

The basketball went flying and nearly hit Dussault in the head. It missed him by just barely a few inches. Once the initial shock wore off, the kommandant was fuming. His face was a dark shade of red, and his eyes held flames within them. Seeing the direction the ball came from, he stormed over to the group of four in a blind rage.

"Major!" He barked.

Klink, Berkel, Wimmer, and Kai turned to the front of them and gulped loudly at the sight. They were done for. Whatever the consequence was, they were done for.

"Trying to kill your superior leader, huh? You think that's some kind of funny joke, Major?" Dussault hissed.

"No, Kommandant. It's just that, I thought that I was trying to, I thought you were Lieutenant Elssler," Klink answered, rambling.

"You calling me a filthy German?!"

"_Never_, Kommandant, not at all! What I meant was, what I meant to say is, I…" he was soon collapsing to the ground with an 'ooff' after being kicked in the leg by Dussault. The colonel pulled out his pistol and pressed it hard in between Klink's eyes, making the German swallow a large lump in his throat. His eyes were as wide as saucers and froze in his spot. He was so terrified that his body could not even shiver from the chill running up and down his spine. As much as he tried to look away from Dussault's cold stare, he could not move his head. All he could do was look at the dead, psychopathic stare that the kommandant held in his eyes.

"Do something, Captain! He's gonna kill Major Klink!" Kai begged, fighting back tears.

"Come on, Kommandant. Major Klink didn't _try_ to hurt you. He just can't see out of that eye of his real well. Surely you can look the other…" Berkel stopped in mid thought the minute Dussault snapped his glare at him. "I'll shut up now, Kommandant." He finished with a whimper. There was no way he was pushing his luck. For all he knew, Dussault would kill _him _next for trying to stand up and say something.

The French colonel watched Berkel for a moment longer, then looked back at Klink. He tightened his grip on his pistol and was about to press down on the trigger, when he was once again stopped by the interruption of another voice. Only this time, it came from one of his own men: Corporal Deveaux.

"Commandant," the guard cried, and hurried to his commander's side.

"Go away, Deveaux. I'm about to make this war a lot easier for us," Dussault ordered, quickly glancing at the corporal.

"No, Sir! Don't shoot."

"Don't shoot. What do you mean 'don't shoot'?!" At that point, Dussault was just downright pissed.

"He can't see. He didn't mean it, Commandant, he just can't see."

"You defending the enemy, Corporal?!"

"No, Sir. Sparing your reputation. _Clearly_ the Germans are scraping the bottom of the barrel sending blind men to war. Why waste your bullet on a useless soldier?"

Dussault glared at Deveaux for a few minutes, then turned his eyes back to Klink.

The German could feel the tension building in his shoulders. He even stopped breathing at one point, terrified just one noise or move would wind up with him getting a bullet straight to the brain.

The kommandant looked at him a moment longer, but eventually put down his gun in reluctance. He gave a slight growl and stared hard at Klink.

"Listen here, _vermine infestée allemande_; one more slip up like this, and you won't live to see another evening, understood?" Dussault warned. (1)

Klink nodded shaky, his lungs beginning to ache for air.

Without another word, Dussault snapped on his boots and marched his way towards the recreational hall.

Deveaux looked on in the direction his commander went, turned to the four prisoners with no expression to his face, then made his way back to his post at the front of the kommandant's office.

When both Frenchmen vanished from sight, the German major finally let out a breath of air and felt his body relax. He closed his eyes with relief and said a silent 'thank you' to God. Once he was finished, he got to his feet, brushed himself off, and was joined by his friend. Kai bolted to him and hugged him tight, and Berkel and Wimmer stood to the right of their commanding officer.

"You alright, Chief?" Wimmer asked with concern.

"Yes, yes, I'm alright," Klink said, still trying to catch his breath a bit.

"Do you need a doctor, Major Klink?" Kai questioned, looking up at the man with wet eyes.

Klink smiled gently.

"No, I'll be alright. Nothing more than a bad bruise is all," he answered, patting the back of the boy's head.

Kai returned the same smile, nodded, then released his hold on the major.

"I can't believe Deveaux saved your life, Chief," Wimmer said.

"Wonder why a Frenchie would save the life of a German." Berkel wondered.

"What do you think, Major?" Kai asked Klink.

The officer in question pursed his lips and looked off the way Dussault had gone in.

"My boy, if I knew that answer, I wouldn't be asking myself the same question," he answered.

"Why would a French soldier save a German? It just doesn't make any sense," Wimmer said, crossing his arms.

"You think he might be a traitor, Major?" Berkel asked.

"Not a chance. He's certainly not a loyal Frenchmen though. Something's off about Deveaux, but I don't know what it is," Klink said, shaking his head.

"How do we find out then?" Kai replied curiously.

"For our sake, Kai, I think it's better if we _didn't_ find out that answer," the major answered.

* * *

(1) _V__ermine infestée allemande_ \- German infested vermin


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18:**

(_Present Day: Stalag 13_)

"That's it?" Newkirk gasped, seeing that Hogan had come to the end of the scrap paper journal entries.

"Looks like it. The next one is back in his actual journal. Looks like he escaped from Camp 54 and got back to his base in Stuttgart somehow," Hogan said, putting the papers back in their place and looking at the next entry.

"How did he escape though?" Kalina asked, anxious to uncover the mystery.

"It doesn't say here. Just starts with his first night back in Germany," the colonel answered.

"Well, that's a great rip off. I wanna know what happened to that blasted Frenchman, Dussault! Don't tell Louis I said that, he'll poison my dinner," Newkirk said.

"Maybe a journal entry fell out when we were flipping through it earlier," Kalina suggested.

As the three were continuing to figure out how Klink possibly got out of France, they heard the door to the kommandant's office open. When they saw the familiar uniform of a German colonel, Hogan, Newkirk, and Kalina snapped their eyes back to Klink's journal, and the American began to read an imaginary medical article as the kommandant himself began to enter the room.

"In order to cure athlete's foot, the infected person must do several of the following things below in order to...oh, Kommandant! Didn't see you there. I was just giving Newkirk and Kalina a lesson in medicine. You know fungal infections are quite the study right now with medics."

"Who knew athlete's foot could be quite the read!" The Englishman chimed in with a grin.

"Reading, it looks more like you three were snooping!" Klink remarked, snatching the book out of Hogan's hands.

"_Snooping_? We'd never do such a thing, Kommandant," Newkirk answered, feigning slightly hurt feelings.

Klink glared at them for a brief moment, flipped through the pages of the book they were reading, and he instantly became horrified, angry, and offended most of all. His journal. His journal from World War I. A time of his life he had spent years trying to forget about. Not only were his prisoners invading his privacy, but his daughter was doing the same thing. It was not only disrespectful to him, but it hurt his feelings tremendously. His eyes went a bit dark and looked back at the three before him in a burning rage.

"And snooping through my personal belongings without my permission, too!" He scolded.

"We weren't snooping; we were educating ourselves more about Germany's history," Newkirk claimed.

"I know we're enemies in this war, Colonel Hogan, but _this_ is low even for you!" The German officer then turned to his daughter. "And you! Out of all people, my own flesh and blood commits this, this act of prying!"

"Why are you ashamed of all of this, Sir?" Newkirk gasped, not understanding the man's logic.

"You're a _hero_, Kommandant!" Hogan cried, the three of them getting to their feet.

"Look at all those planes you shot down!"

"A _hero_!" Klink snapped. "I destroyed homes, businesses, I killed innocent lives and took loved ones away from their friends and family! I'm not a hero, Hogan, I'm a murderer!"

"Kommandant, you can't look at yourself that way. You can't expect everyone to survive in war, Sir. It's fight or die in that situation." The American responded, feeling a pang of guilt hit him. No wonder Klink never spoke of the war with anyone; he had associated himself as a cold blooded killer all these years and tried to erase that part of his life from ever happening. After all this time of trying to bury that past, he had dug it back out and reminded the colonel of it all over again.

"Think of all the lives you _saved_, Kommandant. Your second in command, Private Traeger, the Blue Baron, that Kai bloke, they'd all be _dead_ if it weren't for you, Sir," the Englishman said.

"That's right. The war may have taken many lives, but you saved dozens and dozens of your fellow countrymen. When that mad Frenchman went on a shooting spree in your base, you stepped in front of two of your men to save them from untimely death and stopped him from killing the rest of the airbase," Hogan added.

"Enough!" Klink snapped, slamming his fist on the desk. Kalina flinched as Hogan and Newkirk grew quiet. "You don't need to tell me what happened that night, I was there." The silence lingered as Klink fought for control of his emotions. Finally, he said, "I expect nothing more from street-rabble, but as for an officer, Hogan..." He let the admonishment settle in the air. He turned to Kalina, his eyes softening ever so slightly. She met his gaze and though neither said a word, the conversation was clear. Disappointment. He was disappointed in her behavior...in her brazen violation of his privacy.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them away furiously. She would not cry. She was in the wrong, and she knew what she had to do. She swallowed hard and managed to say around a lump in her throat "I'm sorry, Papa."

"Don't be angry with her, Kommandant," Hogan cut in. "I was the one responsible."

Klink didn't even look away from his daughter's face. He waited patiently, knowing Kalina was not finished. "I should have never done it. I just got so excited to learn more about your service. How you took down the enemy, soared in the sky like an eagle, brought in justice with an iron fist...you're my hero, Papa...I wanted to know how you're a hero to Germany, too. Please - _please_, forgive me." The last sentence was so quiet, it was barely a whisper...but it was sincere.

She hung her head and let a few tears stream down her face, intense guilt and shame panging in her chest. She sniffled and once and awhile made a few soft whimpers, when she felt someone pull her in and hold her close. A familiar rubbing of her head made Kalina look up to see her father looking down at her.

"Of _course_ I'll forgive you, _sußes_," Klink said, keeping his arms around her. The anger had melted away, and he sighed. "But you're wrong. I'm no hero. Just an old soldier from an old war."

The teenager rested her head against her father's chest and let out a deep breath of air. She looked up at him again, and Klink wiped her tears away with his thumb.

"Papa...how did you escape from Camp 54?" She asked meekly.

The kommandant's eyes widened in surprise at the hearing of that question.

"You got that far?" He gasped.

"We've been trying to figure it out, Kommandant. The next journal entry in there we were at was with you back in Germany," Hogan said.

Klink gave a heavy sigh. It sounded more tired than depressed.

"It's a long, long story, Hogan," he answered.

"Will you tell us it, Papa...with your permission this time?" Kalina asked, her eyes still wet.

Klink looked down at her with a blank stare before a small smile made its way onto his face.

"Alright," he said. "Looks like you three already got through the worst of things anyways."

The German colonel made his way to the chair underneath the picture of Hitler with a hidden microphone and sat down in it. Hogan and Newkirk sat down on the ground in front of Klink, and Kalina stood on the left side of the chair. When he saw where she was, Klink patted his lap like he did when she had been very little. It got a small grin from Kalina, then followed as told and gently sat down in her papa's lap.

Seeing they were all settled in, the kommandant let out a breath of air and went back in his thoughts to the night of his grand escape from Camp 54.

"It was a very, very, very hot day in August 1918. I was surprised I didn't suffer a heat stroke that day." He began.

* * *

(_August 14, 1918: Camp 54-Nancy, France_)

The sun beat down on the guards and prisoners of Camp 54 with an intense heat that could knock out just about anybody. It was to the point where everyone, except the kommandant, felt like they were inside of an oven about to become a pile of ash. Some prisoners had gotten to the point of overheating and literally dragged themselves to the infirmary to be cooled down with ice boxes or blocks of ice themselves. Guards were doing all they could to remain in the shade to stay cool when Dussault was not gawking outside his office window at them.

Inside his barracks, Klink leaned against his open window waving a piece of paper in front of him to attempt cooling himself off. It proved to be almost useless, but it was better than cooking to death. He had thrown his officer's cap on top of the table in the main room, unbuttoned his jacket, and every once and a while wiped his face with a handkerchief in one of his jacket pockets. Sweat was streaming down his face, neck, and his shirt was almost completely soaked like the rest of his comrades.

As he felt like he was about to collapse to the ground into unconsciousness, he heard the door behind him open and watched Berkel make his way towards him. He looked just as wretched as Klink himself did.

"Any luck?" The captain asked, wiping his face with a towel.

"As much as you would in the desert," the major answered, waving his piece of paper faster.

"You think the guards would have fans or something to cool everyone down."

"The only fan you're going to find is in Colonel Dussault's office, and you'll just be shot if you try to go in without permission."

Berkel shook his head. It was just downright unfair. Why did Dussault get to have a nice fan to cool him off and the prisoners and even his own guards have to suffer an uninhabitable climate? He could understand why he would not provide his enemy with comfort, but the kommandant even deprived his own men of luxuries like a fan and ice cold water.

"We gotta get out of here, Major. If I stay here any longer, I'm gonna lose my everlasting mind," he said.

"It's impossible, _mein Freund_. If we're caught by _Herr Kommandant_, we'll be shot without trial," Klink answered.

As Berkel was about to reply, the door opened, and Wimmer and Kai walked in and headed towards their friends. The Austro-Hungarian seemed excited about something while Kai appeared anxious.

"Guys, I got it! We're escaping out of here tonight!" Wimmer cried, just loud enough for the four of them to hear.

"_Escape_!" Klink exclaimed. "Are you out of your mind? You'll be killed by the Kommandant!"

"Not if we plan it carefully. If we lay our cards just right, we'll be able to slip out of camp without detection and be far from this area before the Frenchies realize we're even gone!" The Austro-Hungarian explained.

"And exactly how do you plan on doing that? There's _four_ of us; how are we all going to get out of camp without being detected by a guard?"

"It's actually quite simple, Chief. Basic geometry and algebra are at hand here. See, every night the guard tower lights circle around the entire camp at thirty second intervals. The lights aren't bright enough to reach the shadows of barracks 72, so people can easily hide there while waiting for the searchlights to pass by. If each of us run from that barracks to the fence facing the forest within ten seconds, that gives us twenty seconds to crawl underneath the fence, sprint for the forest, and back home to Germany and Austria-Hungary we go!"

Klink looked at the man unamused.

"Alright, if you can do all of that, why must I assist you with poker every time you need to tally up your points?" He deadpanned.

"Because _this_ means the difference between suffering and surviving," Wimmer answered, matter of factly.

The major rolled his eyes, shook his head, then looked at all three of his friends.

"Suppose I _do_ go through with this wild scheme; how do you guarantee that we won't get caught by someone, especially Dussault?" Klink prodded.

"Simple. A high ranking American officer is coming to see Dussault tonight after receiving several reports regarding his abuse to the prisoners and guards. He'll be so tied up trying to impress him, most of the Frenchies will be busy guarding him from us. That'll leave less guards to patrol camp and make escaping just that much easier," Wimmer said.

"It's a good and well thought out idea, Lieutenant, but _when_ is the question? Timing's gonna be everything if we're going to pull this off." Berkel replied, rubbing his chin with his fingers.

"From what it sounds like, this officer's not getting here until around 2130 hours. They should all be inside the kommandant's quarters by 2140 hours, so five minutes after that should do it."

The captain turned his eyes to his commander for the final say.

"What do you say, _Herr Major_? You ready to go home to Germany?" He asked.

Klink looked at all three of them and saw that they wanted to go home to their countries just as much as he did. Going home to Germany was all he could dream of. Going back to his base, seeing his best friend and his boys again, he even missed Burkhalter of all people. He wanted to walk again on German soil, speak his language freely without penalty again, hear the singing of "_Heil Dir Im Siegerkranz_". He wanted to taste good German food and drink some schnapps again. He was terrified of Dussault catching them, though. The kommandant had made it very clear to all of them that he would not hesitate to kill any of them for any reason. Sometimes he shot a prisoner just for seeing them when in a bad mood. He wanted to go home to Germany, but feared the idea of being shot and killed while trying.

Klink faintly shook his head before speaking.

"I want to...I want to go back to Germany with all my heart, but...Dussault will have us all murdered if he catches us."

"Dussault will have us all murdered if we _stay _here. He already plans on liquidating Kai tomorrow evening," Wimmer answered.

"Liquidate Kai?!"

"He says expenses for all of us are becoming too expensive for the camp budget. He's planning on killing ten of us off tomorrow night, Kai being one of them." The Austro-Hungarian continued.

"He's gonna kill me, Major. I don't wanna die!" Kai cried.

The major's face went from anxious to determined within the blink of an eye. He wrapped an arm around the young boy and held him close to his side protectively.

"You're not _gonna_ die...we're getting out of this place tonight," he said, with as much courage he could possibly exude. He looked back up at Wimmer. "What do we do, _Leutnant_?"

Wimmer gathered the three of his friends together and began to debrief them on what would go down later tonight. It was time to end their nightmare once and for all.

* * *

The minute the sky turned dark, Klink and his friends hurried out of their barracks to the shadows of barracks 72 and waited for the arrival of the expected American inspector. They noticed Dussault pacing back and forth on the porch to his office, anxiously waiting for his guest. It looked like he was worried about making a good impression on the officer and showing the man what a strong and efficient POW camp he ran. His nerves had the better of him, however, and could not stop himself from his trek back and forth.

"Hey, check out Dussault. He's more worried than a chicken." Berkel snickered.

"Boy, wait till this American sees what kind of camp he's running when we make our leave." Wimmer commented, holding back a laugh.

"Major Klink," Kai said.

The officer in question turned his attention to the young soldier.

"Where are you going once we get back to Germany?"

"Oh, probably back to my airbase and my men. Get this eye of mine checked out and hopefully fixed so I can get back up in the sky and fly again," Klink answered. Though he wore a smile, his internal self remained lost in darkness. Nothing was going to be the same again. He would not go back to Germany as the man he had once been. Instead of the courageous, fierce, and assertive officer he had once been was now a tired, cowering, broken spirited man. He only imagined how Dussault's treatment would affect him with his relationship to Burkhalter and other people that held higher authority over him. The old Wilhelm Klink was dead. All that was left of him was his memories. He was soon brought out of his thoughts by the sound of Berkel's voice.

"Hey, look! Car's coming," he said.

The four Axis officers turned their eyes back to the kommandant's office and saw a black Vauxhall pulled into camp and alongside the building. Inside it were two French captains and a very tall American colonel in service uniform.

The colonel was a very slim man. He had dark brown eyes, thick dark brown hair, and held a very stern look to his face. He was in no mood for games and did not appear impressed with the camp's condition. He had not been there for even a minute yet, and he already disliked the place.

Dussault came sprinting down the stairs and saluted the higher ranking colonel strongly. He received nothing in return.

"Colonel Barkley, it's an honor to meet you, Sir," the Frenchman said sincerely.

"Yer the commandant of this camp?" Barkley questioned, with a thick southern accent.

"_Oui, Colonel_. I've been looking forward to meeting you, Sir. I've heard many great things about you."

"I wish I could say the same thing regarding you and this here POW camp. You realize you've been reported seven times now for abusing yer prisoners and guards?"

Dussault laughed the remark off.

"_Me_! Abusing my prisoners and guards. Colonel, you've been listening to the wrong set of ears. Surely you don't believe what a bunch of Germans tell you," he said.

"I haven't _heard_ it from a bunch of Germans. I've heard it from several French and American officers that have come here to visit you within the last nine months." Barkley gnarled.

Dussault chuckled sheepishly, then began to shiver under the man's cold stare.

"Perhaps you would like to continue this conversation inside my office, Sir," he suggested.

Barkley did not answer.

The French colonel cleared his throat.

"Let me show you to my office," he said, flat. He marched up the stairs to his office, the American and his subordinates following from behind, and was about to go inside, when Barkley and his men barged passed him and began to make themselves comfortable. It got a growl out of Dussault the moment his guests were out of hearing range. "Rotten country bumpkins."

When the kommandant's door slammed shut, Klink, Berkel, and Kai waited for a few seconds before Wimmer gestured for Berkel to go first. The German captain followed orders and stealthy made his way towards the barbed wire fence facing the forest outside of camp. He looked around quickly for anyone watching him, then got down on his back and slid underneath the wire. Soon he was hidden behind the trees and waited for his friends to follow.

Wimmer turned to look back at Klink and Kai and gestured for the major to escape next.

"Your turn, Chief." He whispered.

"No, I want Kai to go first," Klink answered firmly.

"Major Klink, _please_. I don't want you to get into trouble." The young boy pleaded.

"I'll come after you, but I want you out of this camp immediately. This is no place for a young teenager to be."

"But...but...you've become like a father to me. I never knew my real father, I don't want to lose _you_, Major Klink."

The higher ranked German gave a gentle smile and patted Kai's shoulder. The boy's words were very heartwarming to Klink and one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to him. It made him feel encouraged and for the first time since being captured by the French, strong.

"I'll be right behind you and Captain Berkel," he said kindly.

Kai nodded sadly, knowing he could not win. He respected the major too much to argue any further. He gave Klink a warm hug, received one in return, then he dashed for the fence and almost just as quickly crawled under it. Once his feet were past the barbed wire, Kai got up and silently ran to Berkel behind the trees.

Klink and Wimmer waited for the searchlight to pass over, then the Austro-Hungarian nodded for the German to go next. Klink was about to make his escape, when they were soon joined by an unwanted guest: Deveaux.

The French guard quietly walked up to them and glared at them.

"What are you two doing?" He snapped in a harsh whisper.

As the two prisoners were about to jump and scream at the abrupt question, Deveaux gave them a hard hush.

"Quiet, will you? You're gonna attract attention," He ordered.

"Why would _you _care about us being caught?" Wimmer remarked, crossing his arms in disgust.

"Cause…" Deveaux looked around to make sure no one else was looking before speaking again. "I'm coming with you."

Klink gaped at what he was hearing. A Frenchman? Turning traitor against his own country? It was the first time he had ever heard of a military soldier turning traitor to their homeland.

"You are?" He gasped.

"I'm _sick_ of Dussault. The only person he treats with respect is himself. I swear if I have to spend another night here in this camp, I'll murder the damn man and make it look like as if someone broke into camp and did it!" The Frenchman explained, hissing the last part.

"You're not the only one." Wimmer grumbled under his breath.

"And just how do we know this isn't a trap? Colonel Dussault could have easily put you up to this," Klink said, not buying the French guard's act.

"Come on, Major, what do you want me to do; get down on my hands and knees and beg?" Deveaux remarked, starting to grow desperate.

Klink stood there and gawked at his assumed enemy before answering.

"Take off your helmet and jacket. If you really mean what you're saying, take them off and throw them on the ground."

"Fine, I'll take 'em off." Deveaux replied, with a growl.

"And hand over your gun."

"God, you want my kidneys while you're at it? Man, you Germans are nit picky!"

Once he had undressed himself into just his service uniform, the Frenchman handed over his loaded firearm to Klink.

"Come on, quit the chit chat, and let's get going! Dussault might come back out here with that Barkley dude any minute now," Wimmer urged.

The major pointed Deveaux's gun at the man himself and motioned for him to go next. Deveaux sighed, then made his way to the fence. He looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching, then carefully slid underneath the barbed wire on his back and headed for the trees.

As soon as the guard vanished from sight, Klink put the gun back in his holster, scanned the area for anyone watching them, then made his way to the fence. He looked at which would be the easiest way to get underneath the wire. He decided to get flat on his belly and crawl slowly past the fence. The minute he felt his feet across the fence, he stood up, brushed himself off, and hurried to Berkel, Kai, and Deveaux while they waited for Wimmer to make his way across.

"Wimmer coming?" The German captain asked.

"He'll be here in a minute," Klink said, with a nod.

"Ah man, I can smell Paris clear from here!" Deveaux added, with a wide grin.

"_Paris_!" Berkel exclaimed, in a whisper. "Why not some place like Switzerland or even Italy? Aren't you afraid you'll be caught in Paris and drafted back to Camp 54?"

"Oh no, I'll just join another unit there to avoid that possibility. I tell you the amount of wine I'm drinking when I get there." The guard sighed and shook his head in delight. Wine, pretty women, and no Dussault most of all. The whole scenario was Heaven on earth.

"Let's just focus on getting out of camp for now. If Dussault catches us, _none_ of us are reaching our planned destinations," the major said, his nerves on full blast. By how anxious he felt at that moment, he was surprised he was not suffering from a panic attack.

Wimmer looked for anyone watching, then silently sprinted for the fence, sucked in his breath to try and make his big body a bit more slim, and began to crawl his way to freedom. He was just about through, when one of his boots accidentally hit one of the wires and set off the alarm.

"Oh, damn," he muttered to himself.

"Way to go, you stupid fool!" Deveaux hissed.

"I didn't mean to do it," The Austro-Hungarian retorted, hurrying to the Frenchman and his friends.

"Just shut up and start running!" Klink barked.

Berkel, Deveaux, Wimmer, and Klink holding Kai's arm tight sprinted through the forest as fast as their bodies could go and silently prayed that the shouting and storm of running boots would not catch up to them. They were so close to their freedom, and they were not about to lose that chance again.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19:**

"Underfed, assaulted, and sleep deprived prisoners, abuse to yer own guards, y'all think these are some wild beasts or somethin'?" Barkley accused, slamming several reports and documents onto Dussault's desk. All of them were from other French and American officers that had previously visited Camp 54. The files contained reports ranging from making POWs and guards cleaning the kommandant's office with toothbrushes to physically harming and even killing POWs for absurd reasonings.

"Colonel Barkley, we are dealing with very dangerous and deranged criminals from enemy countries. They have slaughtered thousands and thousands of our people, I only treat them the way they treat us. The _règle d'or_ as they call it," Dussault answered, defending his case. If Germany and Austria-Hungary were going to play dirty, he was going to play dirty right back and make his prisoners feel as worthless and weak as they did to Allied POWs. (1)

"I don't care if they took out an entire _unit_ of our men; yer violatin' several clauses in the rules of Allied Warfare and starting to have people compare us to those here Germans on how they treat our men," The American replied, raising his voice a bit.

The French colonel slightly slammed his hand on his desk and slowly rose to his feet. His eyes fell dark and put on his fierce intimidating look that his POWs and even some of his own guards had grown to fear and cower from.

"_Monsieur Colonel_, now I may run my camp different from other commandants, but you don't see me going around and telling you how to do _your_ job, do you?" Dussault hissed.

"I'll be telling yah how you'll be serving criminal charges if yah don't sit down and listen to my warning!" Barkley warned, wearing the same look on his face as Dussault did.

As the kommandant was about to respond and let the American have it, a loud alarm going off and people screaming commands in French could be heard from inside Dussault's office. The French officer snapped his head in the direction the ruckus was coming from, grabbed his pistol, and stormed out of his office with Barkley and his two men following from close behind.

"_QUE SE PASSE-T-IL ICI_?!" Dussault bellowed, storming into the compound. (2)

The sergeant of the guard, Sergeant Leblanc, sprinted to his commander and saluted him in a frazzled state of mind. He was an older soldier, about his mid thirties, was thin to the point it was medically concerning, had brown hair, dark blue eyes, and was a tad shorter than Dussault.

"_Monsieur Commandant_, there has been an escape, _Monsieur Commandant_," Leblanc answered, in a fearful voice.

"_QUOI_?!" (3)

"Four prisoners from barracks nine, and Corporal Deveaux is no where to be found, _Monsieur Commandant_." The sergeant continued.

"_Vous blockheaded, incompétent twit! Vous savez ce que cela va faire à mon dossier permanent_?!" (4)

"I'm sorry, _Monsieur Commandant_. I have search parties looking for them right now, _Monsieur Commandant_!"

Completely forgetting about his visitors, the French colonel bashed Leblanc hard on the back of his shoulders with his pistol. The sergeant went tumbling down with an 'oof' and began to tremble under the kommandant's hard stare.

"_Fou stupide! Je devrais te tuer pour être une honte pour les efforts de guerre alliés_!" Dussault cursed, shaking his fist in blind rage. (5)

"COLONEL!" Barkley barked, marching to Dussault's side. The American's expression was dark and resembled that to a hardened criminal. "Abusing yer prisoners is one thing, but I ain't standin' here any longer while yah hit yer own countrymen! Men!"

The French captains made their way to the two colonels.

"Yes, Sir," the tall one said, with a salute.

"Arrest this man and throw him inside the car. He's charged with negligence, abuse, and homicide of his fellow countrymen and POWs," Barkley ordered.

"_Oui, Monsieur Colonel_!" The shorter captain replied sharp.

Both captains rough handled Dussault, handcuffed the French colonel's hands tight, and started shoving him to the car.

"And tell General Alfred Prudhomme and Colonel George Hogan that this man is to be put under trial for his crimes against humanity. I will take over command of Camp 54 until a new commandant is assigned command." Barkley continued.

"_Oui, Monsieur Colonel_," both captains remarked with strong salutes, then turned back to Dussault and resumed dragging him to his pending death sentence. Though he struggled and fought hard to get himself released from custody, the ex kommandant could not win the battle. As a result, he became even more infuriated and started cursing all of them in French.

"_Je vous aurai pour cela, Colonel Barkley! Ce camp a besoin de moi! L'ensemble du commandement allié a besoin de moi! TOUS VOUS AVEZ BESOIN DE MOI_!" He screamed. (6)

The American watched Dussault be tossed into the car and the French captains drive out of camp with their detainee, then he helped Leblanc to his feet and spoke to him calmly.

"Continue with sending search parties out for them. They are to be brought to me the minute they're brought back to camp."

"_Oui, Colonel_," Leblanc answered, and hurried off to join the search.

Leaving him to nothing but his thoughts, Barkley crossed his arms and shook his head in disgust. Part of him prayed that the escaped prisoners and guard would be captured and returned to Camp 54. After everything Dussault had put all of them through, though, the other part of him hoped they would avoid capture and make it back to their homelands safely.

* * *

Klink had no idea how long he had been walking for. It felt like days to him, but knew it had only been a few hours. Everyone had split up now to go their separate ways and head for home, and having no one to talk to made the journey almost unbearable for the major. With all his friends now off for their own destinations, Klink began to miss Germany greatly. He missed the familiarity of his native language, his friends, and at the moment his quarters. Specifically, he missed his soft bed. When he got back to Germany, he was drinking an entire bottle of schnapps, going to sleep, and not waking up again for a week.

As he continued trudging through the dark and unfamiliar land he was traveling through, Klink grew tired. His body ached from beatings and walking, his brain and eyes were tired with what little sleep he had got within the last year, and his strong and confident spirit was dead. He was sick of fighting. He was sick of war. If he were a child still, he would have collapsed to the ground at that moment and cried his sorrows out. He had to keep going despite not wanting to, though. He was not about to be captured by the French again and sent back to Camp 54 or another POW camp at that.

Using his deep love for Germany as his only strength and motivation, the major resumed walking and eventually made it to a dirt road that look like it lead to some town or nearby city. Klink sighed with exhaustion and made his way down to the side of the road and tried to take another step, but he could not move anymore. Giving in to his fatigue, Klink lay down in the ditch, used his cap as a pillow, and closed his eyes.

* * *

He had no idea how long he had been sleeping there, but Klink was soon being gently shaken by someone calling for him to wake up. Not wanting to be disturbed, he hoped that keeping his eyes closed and his body still would get the person to go away.

"Major...Major...Major, _können Sie Ihre Augen öffnen, Major_?" The voice asked with sincere concern. (7)

The minute the voice, a male, spoke German, Klink's eyes slowly opened with shock and hesitantly turned his attention to who was kneeling beside him. His mouth dropped slightly and tried to figure out if he was dreaming or was actually awake. Right before his eyes was a German captain and two sergeants standing behind him. All three looked worried about his current condition and wanted to help him get back to wherever he came from.

The major lifted himself up into a sitting position and gazed at them as if God had sent three angels down from Heaven to help him.

"_Du bist ... du Deutscher bist_?" He gasped. (8)

"_Jawohl, Herr Major_. We were doing a patrol of the surrounding areas and saw you lying there unconscious. We feared the worst until we saw you breathing," the captain answered.

"Where...where am I?"

"Salonnes, France. We have a base just down the road not too far from here. We can take you there to get rest before figuring out how to get you to where you need to go."

"You can get me back to Stuttgart?!"

"_Stuttgart_! What are you doing all the way out here, _Herr Major_?"

"It's a long, ugly story I don't want to talk about. Please, you're my only hope of getting back to Germany. I've been shot down, severely injured, taken as a prisoner of war to a horrendous camp, and I've been walking for hours trying to get home. _Bitte, hilf mir nach Hause nach Stuttgart zu kommen! Ich muss Rudi und Oberst Burkhalter wiedersehen_!" (9)

The captain pursed his lips and thought for a minute of a way to help this man. An idea dawned on him and turned to look back at Klink.

"One of my commander's are going back to Germany to bring new soldiers here to fight. He could drop you off in Pforzheim, meet with one of his colleagues stationed there, and then he can drive you the rest of the way back to Stuttgart."

"He can? Oh, that would be _wunderbar! Danke, danke, danke, Herr Hauptmann_! Is there any way I can repay you?" Klink replied, deeply grateful for these men's help.

"_Nein, Herr Major_. Anything to help a fellow countryman. _Bitte folgen_." (10)

The major got to his feet, a sudden burst of excitement energizing him, and walked alongside the captain as they led him home once again.

* * *

After spending the night at the German army base, the captain's commander and Klink headed for Germany early the next morning. By noon, they had arrived in Pforzheim and met with a man known as Colonel Feuerstein at a small military base located in the city. The minute the other officer drove off to his planned destination of Frankfurt, Feuerstein escorted Klink the rest of the way to his base in Stuttgart.

It was about 4:00PM when they arrived, but the minute the major set foot out of the vehicle and back into his base, Klink had tears rushing down his face at the sight. He had never been happier to be back home in Germany. After a year of wondering if he would ever get to see his beautiful homeland again, his prayers and wishes had finally become reality. He was home again, and being far away for so long made Klink love his country that much more.

He thanked Feuerstein for everything he and his colleague had done for him, exchanged salutes, and watched the colonel go back to Pforzheim. Leaving the young officer to himself, Klink sighed with relief and closed his eyes with contentment, when he heard someone yelling his name. It was several people yelling for him. He opened his eyes, looked up ahead of him, and the minute he saw who were running towards him, he broke down and cried. It was no one else but Schneider, Traeger, Kaftan, Basse, and Colonel Burkhalter.

"Major Klink!" Traeger cheered.

"Major, you're back! You came back," Kaftan and Basse said in unison.

"Wilhelm!" Schneider cried, finally reaching his best friend. He hugged his friend tight, who did the same in return. Klink buried his face into Schneider's shoulder and bawled. He had never been happier to see all their faces again. Even the sight of his commanding officer made his heart fill with overwhelming joy.

"We missed you, Major Klink," Traeger said, standing at Schneider's side.

"How did you get out, Sir?" Kaftan asked with excitement.

The major started to calm down, then lifted his head and looked at all of them with a beaming smile.

"I have never been more happy to see _all_ of you. Even _you, Herr Oberst_," Klink answered.

"Klink, what has gotten into you? You are not acting like yourself. Instead of your fierce, strong demeanor you're standing here a weeping fool," Burkhalter demanded, not amused with the major's state of mind.

"Oh, I'm just showing my gratitude for seeing all of you again. And being back in my beautiful Germany fighting for our illustrious Kaiser!" Klink's face soon drained of color, his lack of sleep and food finally returning at full force. He became wobbly, hot, nauseous, and light headed. "There happen to be a doctor somewhere on base? I think I'm...I'm gonna...I think I…" Before he could finish, the major was collapsing into his second in command's arms and became unconscious.

Schneider looked at his friend with shock and felt his head for a temperature. He was burning hot, and his skin was clammy. He was extremely thin to the point where the captain could feel his bones, and his eyelids were a dark purple.

"_Holen Sie sich einen Arzt, Korporal Traeger. Er muss schrecklich krank sein_," Schneider ordered. (11)

"_Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann_!" Traeger replied with a salute, then hurried for the base medic.

Schneider turned his eyes back down to Klink and felt his heart break. He knew POW camps were bad, but whichever camp the major had gone off to must have been Hell on earth for him and their fellow comrades.

"Ah, Wilhelm...what did those monsters do to you?" He asked softly.

* * *

(1) _R__ègle d'or_ \- Golden rule

(2) _QUE SE PASSE-T-IL ICI_?! - WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE?!

(3) _QUOI_?! - WHAT?!

(4) _Vous blockheaded, incompétent twit! Vous savez ce que cela va faire à mon dossier permanent_ \- You blockheaded, incompetent twit! You know what that will do to my permanent record?

(5) _Fou stupide! Je devrais te tuer pour être une honte pour les efforts de guerre alliés_ \- Stupid fool! I should kill you for being a shame for allied war efforts.

(6) _Je vous aurai pour cela, Colonel Barkley! Ce camp a besoin de moi! L'ensemble du commandement allié a besoin de moi! TOUS VOUS AVEZ BESOIN DE MOI_ \- I'll get you for this, Colonel Barkley! This camp needs me! Allied command needs me! ALL OF YOU NEED ME!

(7) _K__önnen Sie Ihre Augen öffnen, Major_? - Can you open your eyes, Major?

(8) _Du bist ... du Deutscher bist _\- You are ... you are German?

(9) _Bitte, hilf mir nach Hause nach Stuttgart zu kommen! Ich muss Rudi und Oberst Burkhalter wiedersehen_ \- Please, help me to come home to Stuttgart! I have to see Rudi and Colonel Burkhalter again.

(10) _Bitte folgen_ \- Please follow.

(11) _Holen Sie sich einen Arzt, Korporal Traeger. Er muss schrecklich krank sein _\- Get a doctor, Corporal Traeger. He must be terribly ill.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20:**

(_Present Day: Stalag 13_)

Hogan's jaw dropped with shock. His father had been one of the officers to give a trial and the sentence to kill Klink's kommandant? He knew his father had assisted in making the execution sentence for an Allied POW camp kommandant in France for violating laws of humanity, but he had never known it was the kommandant of the camp Klink had served over a year at as a prisoner himself.

"My father?" He gasped. "You knew my father?"

"I never met him, but I was informed an American colonel and French general had ordered Dussault be killed for his criminal charges a few years after the war ended. I only learned recently what the American's name was. That's why I run this camp the way I do. I don't run mine like many of my colleagues. After all the fear and trauma and nightmares I faced at Camp 54, I vowed when assigned to Stalag 13 I would treat my prisoners fairly and respectfully. You and your men may be the enemy, Colonel Hogan, but that doesn't make you less of a human than us Germans are," Klink answered softly.

"I'm sorry you had to witness and experience so much violence during your imprisonment there, Kommandant. Colonel Dussault sounded like one crazy nut...Almost as bad as Hitler," the last part Hogan said under his breath. It earned a glare from the German officer in response.

"What happened after that, Sir? Why'd you pass out back at your base?" Newkirk asked.

"Due to how little food and water we were given at camp, I returned to Germany malnourished and suffered a bad heat stroke. I was kept in the hospital for about a week until I gained enough strength to serve the remainder of the war. Unfortunately, I was never allowed to command a bomber squadron again with my left eye. The bright light from my accident with the Blue Baron was so severe that it damaged and weakened the nerves in my eye permanently. I was diagnosed with nearsighted vision, and I've worn my monocle so I can see well ever since." Klink continued.

"Is that why you hate flying now, Papa?" Kalina questioned, her heart breaking for her father. The poor man had gone through so much in his life and within such a short time period, too. He was the last person she felt that deserved to go through all that misery.

Klink gave a sad sigh and nodded gently.

"Yes, _sußes_. That's why I hate flying now. Not only am I terrified of another accident happening, but it also reminds me of something that I loved doing and never able to do again as a career," he said.

"If you couldn't fly anymore, what did you do for the rest of the war?" Hogan asked.

"Well, after I was released from the hospital, General Burkhalter awarded me with the Pour le Mérite and my second Iron Cross for successfully escaping from a POW camp. And since I could no longer fly airplanes and fight in combat, I started my career as a military bureaucrat in early September." The kommandant replied.

"What's a bureaucrat do, Papa?" Kalina asked with curiosity.

"Oh, they're someone who serves a position in the military or government as an administration type figure. Because I had become so passive due to my time in Camp 54, General Burkhalter thought I'd be best off helping people instead of harming them. So he got me a job in...conciliating," the last word Klink said with dread and disgust. How he had hated that job so. Every day he had gone to work to deal with two new people or groups fighting and screaming with one another and always had to be the one to solve the issue for them. Half of the time it did little to help, and the same people or groups had to come back again for a different initiative.

Klink sighed and recalled a pair of men who had been just the worse case imaginable to work with.

"There were these two young men in the _Luftstreitkräfte_ that drove me absolutely insane. Every week I think I saw them at least once for a new problem that resulted from the old one." The colonel began, as he went back to the last few months of World War I and the start of his new job.

* * *

(_October 24, 1918: Stuttgart, Germany_)

Klink sat at his desk while slowly losing his mind from all the arguing. The same two flyers he had been dealing with for weeks now were once again sitting before him disputing over yet another issue between them. Frankly, the major was unamused and getting sick of seeing the two young men in his office.

Corporal Karsten Brennecke, age 19, and Private Ludwig Dahmer, age 18, were members of the 345th Bombing Squadron and had disliked each other since day one. Dahmer thought Brennecke was callous and over-demanding, and Brennecke thought the private was too young and stupid to be in the military. The tension between the two had been tolerable at first. After the two went on their first training assignment and met failure in result, Dahmer and Brennecke lost it with one another and could now hardly be in the same area together. They were either screaming, arguing, or started shoving and shaking each other to where one incident almost became violent. Their commanding officer had had it after that with their wild and immature behavior and sent them both to Klink for counseling. The poor major had been stuck with the two ever since and saw them at least once a week or more.

"You can't fly a damn plane to save your life!" Dahmer spat.

"At least I didn't almost kill us when trying to go in for an emergency landing!" Brennecke barked back.

"You wanna try landing a plane with a blown up motor and failing engine, be my guest!"

"I would've at least checked the engine and motor before taking someone up in the air!"

"I checked that damn hunk of junk four times, _dummkopf_! At least _I _didn't lose my grip on a hand grenade, drop it on the wrong practice target, and blow up our commander's quarters!"

"Oh, you have to bring _that_ up again!"

"Well maybe if you weren't such a numskull, we'd still have our flying privileges!"

"Maybe if you weren't such a hot head, I wouldn't have mistaken your screaming for giving me the command to attack!"

"You wanna go?"

"Bring it!"

"Delivery for Corporal Brennecke, it's been brought!"

The two flyers shot to their feet and began to scream and shake their fingers at one another. It was so much that Klink could no longer tell what they were saying to one another. All he knew was that he had finally had it with these two. He was going to put an end to this once and for all.

The major slammed the gavel he was given onto his desk, rose to his feet, and glared harshly at the two enlisted soldiers.

"SILENCE!" He demanded.

Both Brennecke and Dahmer immediately fell silent and stared at the officer like a deer in headlights.

"Sit down, shut up, and _I'm _going to do the talking now!" Klink began sternly. "For the past six weeks I have listened to both of you argue and bicker about how you can't stand the other and given you solutions to fix the problem. Either it works for a short amount of time, or you refuse to implement them and carry on with this obscenity! Frankly, I'm sick of seeing _both_ of you! You both act more like children than soldiers!"

The two flyers turned to look at one another, then back at Klink and hung their heads in shame. Neither one of them said a word and continued to listen to the major quietly.

"I'm giving you two options to choose from; either you can grow up and learn to work together for the sake of our country, or I'm taking this to your commanding officer and requesting a court martial for both of you!"

"A court martial!" Dahmer gasped.

"On the charges of being a disturbance and threat to your squadron and the other men around you." Klink clarified.

"But, _Herr Major_. That will go on our permanent records!" Brennecke replied, in horror.

"Then I suggest you make a change in behavior, Corporal. I see you two walk into this office again, and I will see to it that your court martial is a brutal one, understood?"

"_Jawohl, Herr Major_," Dahmer and Brennecke said, their voices shaking with anxiety.

"Diiiiiiiisssmiiiiiiissed," Klink answered, with a salute.

Brennecke and Dahmer gave a sharp salute and hurried out of the office quickly to go back to work. Once they were gone, the major let out a heavy sigh and fell back into his chair worn out. How he hated his job so. He wanted so badly to get transferred to a different type of position, but was too terrified of Burkhalter to request such a thing. The relationship between the two had been very strained since returning from Camp 54. The colonel was losing respect for Klink, and the major himself was losing trust in Burkhalter. He missed their old relationship, but he could not go back to the way things were. He had become a different person since meeting Dussault. He had lost his backbone to the authority, was scared of upsetting anyone, and had become a coward in order to please everybody with higher power than him. He did yearn for his past, though. He wanted to be the strict, confident commander he had once been again. He wanted his courage back. He wanted to get into his Gotha GV and fly again.

As Klink closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself somewhere far far away from the war, he was disturbed by a sudden knock on his office door. He opened one eye to see who it was, then sat up and gave a sad smile to his visitor. It was no one else but his best friend, who had now taken over command of his old squadron.

Schneider smirked and leaned against the doorway. He had heard part of the conversation that had taken place between the major and the two flyers that he was always complaining about.

"Finally laid down the law with them, huh?" The captain prodded.

Klink sighed and threw his arms slightly up before they landed on his desk with a 'thud' sound.

"I swear those two are fighting their _own_ war," he said.

"It's not any better out there, Wilhelm. I don't think we'll be fighting much longer in this war," Schneider answered, his voice sounding defeated. "We've got men on the Western Front collapsing from exhaustion, the Americans are coming through France in at least the ten thousands each day, and now were looking for someone to blame for all of our losses and our declining efforts in winning the war."

"You mean you think the war is…"

Schneider nodded slowly before his friend could even finish.

"It's over, Wilhelm. The Allies have won. All we can do now is wait for the Kaiser to realize it and surrender to the Americans," he said.

Klink slumped in his chair, looked down to his left, and sighed with resignation.

"I had been hoping that it would have gone differently for us...our whole country's going to change after this," he said, soft.

"It was always going to change, _mein Freund_. It's just not going to be for the better of us."

The major looked off slightly in the distance at what he saw as a dramatic, negative change for his beautiful Germany. No longer ruling as an empire, paying their debt back to the Allies, it would be a whole different world in Germany. He was not sure if he was more worried or frightened for such a rapid change in his country. All he knew at that moment was that he felt three things: deep sadness, hopelessness, and grief.

Coming out of his thoughts, Klink looked up to the one person he had always turned to for advice and guidance. This time he needed it more than ever before.

"Rudi," he said. "What's going to happen to us?"

The captain made his way further into the room, sat down on the corner of his friend's desk, and put a gentle hand on Klink's shoulder for comfort.

"I don't know, Wilhelm. I wish I could give you a better answer than that. What the fate of our beautiful Germany is I don't know. The fate that lies ahead for you and _I_, however, I think it'll be filled with lots of laughter and joy. Finishing university and getting our degrees, a good job, maybe a pretty girl to take as a wife, and having one another to bring us back up after this is all over." He replied.

The major looked at his friend, trusting his word completely, but his words for some reason were not doing much this time. If all of that were true, then why did he still feel so sad?

* * *

A couple weeks went by, and the date was November 11, 1918. After a long, strenuous day at his job, Klink was relieved to come back to base and relax for the night. As he came into base, he saw several officers sitting at picnic benches with their faces buried in their hands, wandering around looking like zombies, and some were even crying as if they had just lost the person they loved the most in life.

An eerie feeling came over Klink, and it made his stomach turn with discomfort. He was about to quicken his pace to his quarters, when someone walked up and stopped before him. He looked up and saw Schneider standing there. The captain's facial expression was grim and looked like he had just finished crying himself.

It finally dawned on the major what was going on. His worst nightmare had come to life. He felt his eyes begin to burn and struggled to swallow a knot in his throat once his initial shock had worn off.

"It's over, isn't it." He croaked.

Schneider hesitated for a minute, not wanting to be the one to break his best friend's heart, but eventually slowly nodded.

"It's over, _mein Freund_," he said softly.

Seeing his growing distress, Schneider brought his friend in for a hug, not knowing how else to comfort him.

Klink embraced his friend and finally quit fighting. He broke down and began to cry. World War I was over. His beautiful Germany and victorious leader were gone.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21:**

(_Present Day: Stalag 13_)

Klink wiped his wet eyes with a handkerchief, while his daughter gently rubbed her father's arm. To that day it still broke his heart to remember that night. To remember what he had loved so deeply and how it had been taken from him. He gave a small smile when Kalina gave him a kiss on the cheek and looked at her lovingly.

Hogan and Newkirk sat in silence, not knowing what to say. They had never experienced such a thing in their life, but they used the loss of a dear loved one to try and come close to the feeling. The idea of losing everything you had grown up with and had become so familiar with and having to start all over again with a new government was horrifying and devastating to them. Imagining a life without the President of the United States or the Prime Minister of Great Britain was a nightmare to both Allied soldiers. In a way, they felt guilty and sorry for what their countries had done to Germany in the Great War. Perhaps if they had let Germany keep their government and made less extreme punishments for them at the Treaty of Versailles they would have never had Hitler come to power or created World War II.

"Kommandant, I...I don't know what to say," The American finally spoke, trying to find the right words to say. He could not think of any.

"Kommandant...if I could give yah your Kaiser back, I would...I'm trying to imagine how terrified I would be if the same thing were to happen to Ol' Winnie back in London." Newkirk added. "It must have been awful to have gone through what your country faced, Sir."

"What happened after that, Kommandant? Did you go back to Munich to finish school?" Hogan asked.

"I did. I got my degree in mathematics and went back to another branch of work as a military bureaucrat. I actually enjoyed my job that time. I moved here to Hammelburg and worked as a financial manager for the army," Klink said, his frown turning into a smile. Remembering his job and how he had got to do something he loved brought him joy.

"You mean yah actually _like_ doing all that math and stuff?" Newkirk gasped, not able to comprehend the man's logic.

"Oh, yes, I love it. It's like trying to solve puzzles and mysteries. You feel so good and proud of yourself once you figure it out."

"Blimey, he's one of _those_ people."

"And your Kaiser? Did he go into retirement or go to another country for different work?" Hogan questioned.

"Once he resigned from power, he fled from Germany to the Netherlands from exile for the remainder of his life. He actually even offered me a position as his adjutant and go with him, but I kindly turned down the offer." The kommandant replied.

"You what?!" Kalina exclaimed. "Are you crazy, why would you do such a thing?! You know what life you could have been living now?"

Klink lightly smirked.

"I didn't _want_ that life, _sußes_. I wanted a stable job, one place to call home, find a pretty girl for a wife...then God gave me a little angel to love," he said, running his fingers through the teenager's hair.

"Aw, Papa," Kalina answered, blushing. She leaned against her father and let him wrap his arms around her. Her smile grew when he gave her a gentle kiss on the head.

Hogan and Newkirk smiled at the sight.

"Aw," the colonel said.

"I'm interested in learning more about how the Kommandant met me little mate's mum," the corporal said with a grin.

"Oh, did you meet her through one of those one minute meeting things? I heard you can meet some pretty interesting people at those."

Klink and Kalina turned their eyes to both Allied soldiers, and Klink gave them an irritated glare.

"Get back to cleaning, and that's an order!" He demanded.

"Alright, alright, we're getting back to work. Come on, Newkirk. Back to our jobs," Hogan said, patting the Englishman on the shoulder.

"I'll start sweeping the floor," Newkirk answered with dread.

The two POWs went to their stations and resumed cleaning the kommandant's office.

Klink and Kalina looked back at one another and were about to start a new conversation, when the door to the office opened, and Schultz stepped inside. He saw the four occupants of the room and raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"What's going on in here?" He asked.

"Nothing much. Just cleaning the Kommandant's office while he tells us stories about his past," Hogan answered, again sorting through the books on Klink's shelf.

"Ooo! Did he tell you how he met Kalina's mother?" The sergeant asked with a grin.

"SCHULTZ!" Klink bellowed, shaking his fist in the air.

Schultz quickly left the room without another word and headed back for his post. The minute he left, Hogan shook his head while smiling.

Newkirk smirked and went back to sweeping, when he saw something on the floor that made his eyes light up.

"Hey, look! Just found meself 20 Marks!" He cheered, and picked it up into his hand. It was almost immediately grabbed out of it by Kalina, who had a grin of her own.

"_Danke_, Newkirk," she said, and walked back to her father, leaving the corporal feeling blue.

"And Germans think _we're_ greedy." He grumbled under his breath. He sighed and again went back to brushing his broom across the floor.


End file.
